Trail of Echoes
by Knightfall1138
Summary: A Story of the Old Republic: The Star Forge has been destroyed, and the Jedi Knight Revan has been redeemed in the eyes of the galaxy. But he soon finds himself chasing specters from his past, hoping to unravel the mystery of a dark threat he once knew.
1. Star Wars

A long time ago in a galaxy far,

far away...

_Four thousand years before the rise of the GALACTIC EMPIRE: the Sith Lord Malak has been defeated, his armada crippled by the brave soldiers of the Republic Fleet, and the ancient shipyard, known only as the STAR FORGE, has been destroyed by the redeemed JEDI KNIGHT REVAN._

_With the Sith onslaught brought to a sharp end, the galaxy rejoices and pays tribute to their newfound heroes—the crew of the EBON HAWK._

_As the ceremony begins on the lost planet of Lehon, dark forces continue to conspire against the Republic and the Jedi Order, threatening to once again draw Revan and his friends away from their respective lives, and plunge them deeper into the unknown..._


	2. Prelude: Knights of the Old Republic

_With the honor and trust of an entire planet bestowed upon the beaming Jedi Knights: the crowd's cheers turned into a grateful frenzy, the music of the royal heralds played loudly around the court, and the stars above their heads shined brightly—as a new hope for the galaxy spread like wildfire among them._

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><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Prelude - Knights of the Old Republic

* * *

><p>Debris from the decimated Sith war machine drifted through the planet's atmosphere: long streaks of white fire and smoke against a flawless blue sky. Republic soldiers gathered in the courtyard of ancient stone, cheering, firing their weapons into the air with jovial abandon. They embraced each other—races from every corner of the Republic—and celebrated the end of a war that had seemed to be neverending.<p>

They had watched as the Outer Rim fell to the Mandalorians, then Dxun and Onderon; entire worlds burned into silence as Mandalore the Ultimate marched his Neo-Crusaders across the galaxy, their gaze fixed on Coruscant. The Republic had celebrated, much as they did now, when the Jedi Knight Revan brought that march to a standstill, and then pushed back, eventually defeating the Neo Crusaders at Malachor V.

Revan and his band of faithful Jedi were seen as the saviors of the Republic: the light to banish the darkness that had threatened to consume all in its path.

Now, as Revan stood at the head of that ancient courtyard, watching the vigilant soldiers of the Republic cheer his name, he couldn't help but wonder how everyone had seemingly forgotten, and so completely, that he had brought that darkness back to the galaxy not too long ago.

He had led the Republic forces away from their victory at Malachor V, and plunged them all into the void of war and destruction that the Star Forge had offered. Very few had turned away from that abyss where the dark side claimed all; Revan had a way with words.

With ten-thousand ships at his command, he had returned to Republic space as the corrupted husk of his former self: Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith. Under his new mantel, he destroyed entire worlds without a second thought; tortured legions of Jedi until they lived and breathed for the dark; suffered none but the strong and the useful to live in his wake.

How many had died by his own hand? And how many by his orders? He couldn't grasp a number of any kind.

The crowd cheered on. _"__Revan! __Revan!__"_

Stars above, as hard as he tried, he couldn't find a number high enough to match the deaths he knew were on his account. Worse than that: he couldn't remember a single face.

"You have defeated Malak, destroyed the Star Forge and broken the spirit of the Sith." A woman in uniform was talking to him, loudly for all in the crowd to hear. "For this, I am proud to present you each with the Cross of Glory. The highest honor the Republic can bestow."

Another round of cheers emerged from the crowd. Revan was able to focus in on the moment just enough to see the medal being pinned on his robes. The woman saluted him. After an awkward pause, he managed to return it.

She moved away, retrieving similar medals from ornate boxes and carefully pinning them on each of Revan's companions.

The Wookiee, Zaalbar, leaned over and quietly grumbled something to his Twi'lek cohort, Mission Vao. She grinned and shook her head.

"I'm sure they haven't heard about that. Don't you worry that furry head of yours, Big Z." But then Mission fell into thought, and her blue skin paled a little. "At least, I don't think they've heard... Do you think they take back medals for stuff like that?" Before Zaalbar could give her an answer, the woman approached her. Mission stood up straight and smiled brightly, somehow managing to look suspicious at her own ceremony.

Zaalbar grumbled again.

"Shhh. Of course you'll get a medal," Mission assured her friend. "Why wouldn't they give you one just because you're a Wookiee?"

Sure enough, the woman in uniform returned and pinned one of the medals on Zaalbar's vest, then on Mission's. She saluted them both.

"See?" Mission elbowed the Wookiee's flank. "Worried for nothin'."

While the woman in uniform retrieved more medals, Revan struggled to remember her name and why it seemed to hold some significance to him. They had been formally introduced when the military landed planetside, but he'd had barely any time to process anything—their victory over Malak, their survival in the wake of the Star Forge's destruction; and Bastila—before he was urged away to address the crowds of ecstatic and victorious soldiers of the Republic.

_What __was __her __name...?_

She approached Carth Onasi, who still looked the worse for the wear after just barely getting the _Ebon __Hawk_ and its crew out of the Star Forge in time. His eyes were listless and tired, but his face showed gentle pride as his arm brought his son, Dustil, in for another hug.

Carth's mentor had abandoned him over Malachor V, he had lost his wife during the sacking of Telos IV, and nearly lost Dustil to the Sith Academy at Korriban. After spending several long years losing everything he had held dear, he'd finally regained the one thing that mattered most to him in the galaxy.

Revan was overjoyed for his friend—more so than he was able to outwardly display in his state. The man had to lose his son twice before he finally got him back. He wondered if those trust issues of his would be a thing of the past now.

"Lieutenant Carth Onasi," the woman said, "your actions have not gone unnoticed. You've done more than uphold your oaths as a soldier of the Republic than any one of us could ever hope to match. Your courage and commitment toward the keeping of the peace in this galaxy will not be forgotten. Not while any of us can still breathe."

Carth pulled his arm back from his son's shoulder to return the woman's salute. "Thank you, Admiral Dodonna." He received the medal graciously.

_Admiral __Dodonna._

Revan knew that name. _From __where?_

His mind sparked and ached as another wave of memories flooded in from the periphery of his damaged mind. The walls were coming down. All he could find was pain.

_Glass __over __Coruscant. __Bodies __in __the __dark. __Screams, __then __silence. __Always __more __silence._

He winced, but resisted any further display. He felt someone take his hand.

_ "You wish to become the master of the dark side? And you would have me serve under you?"_

_ "You will not make that decision for me!"_

Admiral Dodonna approached Jolee Bindo and Juhani, two Jedi who had been slow to make their way back home. They stood emanating the discipline that only true masters of the light can show, and they did so looking as happy as they had ever been.

"And for two of our returning Jedi—"

Jolee cut her off. "Admiral Dodonna..." He ran his fingers through his graying beard. "Your father was also an admiral in the Republic fleet. Shaine Dodonna?"

Taken off guard, the admiral managed a nod. "Yes, that's his name."

"I served with that fellow in the skirmishes over Utapau, and flew a few more missions with him after that at Ord Mantell. Terrible, terrible pilot." Jolee fell silent. Everyone waited for something to be added. Noticing the eyes upon him, he finally said, "Just thought you should know."

Admiral Dodonna didn't miss a beat. "Right. Well, ah—for your enduring service to the Republic..." She trailed off and roughly pinned the medal on the old man's robes. "You know, my father had plenty of stories about you, too, Jolee Bindo. About how your friends had a tendency to throw themselves into reactor shafts."

Jolee looked appalled. "That wasn't my fault!" He wagged his finger at the admiral in that respect-your-elders manner he pulled off so well. "Woman, that was destiny! Swirling Force!"

Dodonna proceeded to give the old Jedi a look that said, _We'll __settle __this __later_, threw her smile back on and continued with the ceremony with all due formality. She nodded at Juhani. "I've heard much of your time at the Dantooine Enclave, the certain lessons concerning the dark side that you were forced to conquer."

Juhani shamefully broke eye contact. Her "lessons" hadn't been conquered with such ease. She had spent days giving every bit of herself over to the dark side, drowning in its false promises, before Revan found her in that grove. With his help, she had risen above that corruption, but her dignity had never fully recovered.

"An unfortunate time," Juhani said. "A stain on my past."

"If I might say something," Dodonna continued. "As we stand here watching the Sith armada burn, knowing the machinations of the dark side have been crippled for it, I think I'm fully within my rights to believe that out of your conviction, you have overcome." She pinned the Cross of Glory on Juhani's robes. Tears gathered in the Cathar's eyes. "You stand in the light, child."

Revan looked down and saw that Bastila had been the one holding his hand. He looked into her eyes, as gray as a Coruscanti morning, and the memories of Darth Revan receded just enough for him to breathe in the moment.

"You'll be okay," Bastila said calmly, and smiled. "Stay here with me."

Revan took a deep breath and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'm trying."

Admiral Dodonna continued down the line the crew of the _Ebon __Hawk_ had formed. She approached Canderous Ordo: ex-Neo-Crusader of the Mandalorian army, mercenary, and a member of the Exchange under Davik Kang himself. In his day, he had been a formidable warrior, and proved his worth over and over again to Mandalore the Ultimate during their war against the Republic.

"Oh, this is gonna be good," Revan muttered.

Considering the astronomical number of soldiers who had died defending the Republic during the Mandalorian Wars, it was a statistical certainty that Admiral Dodonna had lost many close to her during that time, both under her command and on the frontlines. And considering Canderous Ordo's absolute effectiveness as a soldier, it was also a statistical certainty he had been responsible for at least one of those deaths.

The admiral was almost certainly taking this into account as she approached the Mandalorian with the Cross of Glory that was rightfully his. Revan and his friends collectively flinched.

"Canderous of Clan Ordo," the admiral began. "Your role in the wars precedes you."

"Such was my intention," Canderous replied evenly.

Mission covered her eyes with Zaalbar's paw.

Admiral Dodonna nodded and continued. "We were the greatest of enemies once, but you and your warriors were valiant and honorable combatants. I should know, since I found myself in the trench of my crashed shuttle facing down a Basilisk war droid."

Revan thought he saw Canderous supply the briefest of grins.

"My hope is that you accept this medal not on behalf of the Republic, but on behalf of the galaxy that you've given a future to." She presented the medal, but did not pin it on him.

And the world held its breath.

"Has he shot anyone yet?" Mission quietly asked Zaalbar.

Canderous sighed and calmly picked up the medal. "It's my privilege to accept this—and I accept it on behalf of the honored dead on both sides of the line." He nodded and pinned the medal on his vest, still full to bursting with ammunition. "The stars burn with their sacrifice. I wear this with pride."

The crowd found themselves cheering once more. A formation of _Aurek_-class strikefighters made a pass over the ceremony, vapor trails appearing in their wake, the sound barrier yielding before them with sharp reports.

The crew of the _Ebon __Hawk_ turned to their audience, as their looks of pride and excitement (and subtle exhaustion) were beamed across the galaxy through the HoloNet. They were heroes, but they had not set out on their journey to find titles. They were celebrities, but they would rather have been anything but. They were what the Republic needed, and the festivities would not end quickly.

But even through the HoloNet, none could be bothered to pick out the lines of distress across Revan's face as he fought his last battle. His muscles continued to tense and his eyes reacted to things that were not there. He could feel Bastila's hand in his, the only thing he could cling to. But it wasn't enough.

He could see the faint light of the first Star Map on Dantooine; the bodies that lined the Sky Ramp of Onderon; the waterfalls and switchback vales of Malachor V before his words and the shadow of his fleet crushed the world into nothingness. He could see Malak in the hangar bay of the _Duskwind_, clutching his severed arm and uttering his last screams as a free man before Revan had shackled him to the dark ways of the Sith.

Revan could see it all, every bloodstained second, through the eyes of the monster that had brought the galaxy to its knees—the monster he had once been.

The ceremony continued, the crowd still celebrated. But somewhere out there, amongst the merry chaos down in the courtyard, Revan thought he could see his old friend. As he tried to focus, the dissonance grew quieter and quieter, until all he could hear was Malak's lethargic clap, echoing off the walls of his mind.

He could see in his friend's eyes the diluted anger of a tormented man finally at peace, and he noticed the slight upturn of his cheeks, just above where his jaw had been, as if the fallen Dark Lord was trying to smile.

_Clap. __Clap._

Revan couldn't bring himself to blink or breathe while his old friend stared back at him through his mind's eye. The man really was smiling.

_"__It's __not __over, __Revan,__"_ Malak said, his voice an amalgam of old and new, familiar and distorted. _"__For __as __long __as __you __breathe, __it'll __never __be __over.__"_ He uttered a terrible laugh from his exposed throat. In Revan's ears, it was louder than the broken sound barrier. _"__Enjoy __your __'ending' __while __you __can, __brother!__"_

Admiral Dodonna stood before the Republic troops, her arms outspread. "From Coruscant to the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim, you will be known as the saviors of the Republic!"

And the galaxy applauded.

_Clap. __Clap._

Revan squeezed Bastila's hand tighter.


	3. In Exile

_"May the Force be with you, my Padawan. My only regret is that I must share you with the Republic. You've been as a daughter to me, Meetra. And I could not be more proud." She unsheathed a small ceremonial knife from her robe and, after her student returned a bow, reached out and cut away the Learner's braid hanging from Meetra's brown locks._

_"Rise," Sunrider said. "Meetra Surik—Jedi Knight of the Republic."  
><em>

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><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter One - In Exile

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><p>As if descending from the twin suns, the Corellian freighter appeared behind thick sunshine and careened toward the Anchorhead Spaceport, its hull still visibly radiating heat from its trip through the atmosphere. The durasteel plating of the starship buckled and popped as it cooled, sending sounds like blasterfire cracking through the air. The ship came in low and finally engaged its hovering thrusters as it prepared to land.<p>

It was at about this point that Meetra Surik awoke to find herself sprawled across a row of plasteel canisters, the tattered poncho she had bought the day before still covering her like a blanket. She sat up, her body complaining every inch of the way, and casually took in her surroundings.

Three walls, a mass of canisters, and the earsplitting sound of hovering thrusters nearby told her she was back in the storage area of the spaceport. No matter how many times she woke up here, she didn't think she'd ever be able to figure out why her drunken stupors always led her to this place. _Always_. And it was usually always the same row of canisters that she found herself waking upon.

Her back popped as she stretched and her head was slow to turn left without straining her neck. Why on plasteel canisters? she wondered. Why, on the most uneven surface short of a desert cactus? It was semi-worrying, since she wasn't sure if one day she'd wake up to find she had been sleeping off a hangover in a sarlaac pit.

"Come what may," she groaned, getting to her feet—only to discover her boots had gone missing again. The sun-baked flooring of the storage area burned the soles of her feet red before she could even react. "Dammit!" She tossed herself back onto the canisters, rubbing her feet together in a futile attempt to massage away the pain. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

This would count as the third time she had woken up without boots on, and that alone confused her more than anything else.

She cursed to herself a few more times before resorting to her usual solution: tearing off a couple pieces of her poncho and tying them to her feet. It was an imperfect solution, but it was better than walking across Tatooine sands without some kind of protection. It would also mean another morning of drawing stares from the Dug and Toydarian merchants on this side of the spaceport, which was always fun, fun, fun.

Meetra began weaving through the rows of canisters on her way towards the exit. She was almost there when a Twi'lek dockworker spotted her. He immediately began laughing, and said in his native tongue, _"__Checking __out __for __the __night, __ma'am?__"_

She shot him an impatient glare but kept walking. The laughter didn't stop until another landing ship drowned it out.

–

Feet wrapped in homespun cloth torn from her poncho, blue eyes sunken, brown hair so tangled it almost looked like it could be a style from some uncivilized world on the Rim, and a walk that screamed, "I've been spending more time at the cantina than at home," Meetra had already done her part to ensure that she was the main attraction in the merchant's quarter of Anchorhead.

Oh, and there was a swap meet on for the day, so merchants from practically every adjoining system were tracking this strange Human make her way down the street, as if compelled by some higher force. In the woman's wake, she left behind a rising tide of laughter and emphatic conversations.

"Friend of yours?"

_"__Three __credits __says __she __falls __over __before __she __makes __it __past __Jank'kar's __stand.__"_

"It looks like some'n mistook the liquor fer water again."

"Bes, come close. I am unaware of this Human mating dance. Please explain."

Meetra made a hard right down an alleyway to avoid the rest of the merchants on the street, grateful for the short stretch of shade and isolation it provided. The heat of the day hadn't changed considerably, but at least her skin wasn't getting burned by the double dose of sunshine that regularly cooked Tatooine.

She canted herself up against the clay wall of the alley and took in deep breaths of dry air. Her home wasn't so far away, but her body was already sapped of energy; not to mention she had already met her embarrassment quota for the day. There would be another pair of boots waiting for her, a cold shower, a meal of twice-cooked bantha meat and ku'den proteins.

And then tomorrow, she'd be back on the sandcrawler, working security for a standard wage to eke out a sub-standard living. It was all rushing back to her, bursting through her hangover: the _knock, __knock, __knock_ of her boots upon the durasteel balcony, the loud droning of the engines and treads in her ears as the old machine struggled over the dunes, the heft of the blaster-rifle in her hands, the tenderness of her cheeks, arms and chest after a day in the sun.

Unlock, unload. Time stamp, rinse, repeat.

Absolutely none of it held any interest to her. Absolutely none of it. But her general sense of malaise was overruled by that one burning question. The question that if she ever found the answer to, would possibly be just enough to convince her to leave this miserable ball of sand behind.

But the answer wasn't there. Not yet.

She had been searching for it, earnestly, for over a year now. While she hopped from planet to planet, whenever she switched from one job to another, during those long rides between star systems—and at times just like now. In that space between it all, between her toils and nightly dreams, when there was only silence.

There had been something there before, once. Master Vima Sunrider had once told her that everything is connected, and that everything shares the same song.

_"And if you listen close, young Padawan, you can hear it. When that day finally comes, you'll understand—your every breath, every blink of an eye, every word you speak and even the smile you wear now: all of it brings harmony to the song of the universe. And just by being, you add a note to that song."_

Meetra had heard it once. She had felt that connection. Now there were only cut threads, and an empty symphony hall that yielded flat echoes, no matter how loud she screamed.

The Force was lost to her, as was everything and everyone she had known. And that question that haunted her still had never left her mind, not since her expulsion from the Jedi Order—not since she had been dragged from the Temple on Coruscant, flailing, shouting at the top of her lungs for help that never came. Only echoes returned her pleas.

With her way of life gone, the Force departed, and the ghosts of Malachor V weighing heavy on her thoughts, the only question she sought to answer was this: _Where __do __I __go __from __here?_

She slumped down in the sand, saw her dirty toes wiggling through her tattered, makeshift shoes, and she cried.


	4. Homecoming

_"All that the senators, the commonwealth, and even the Jedi themselves have fought to build will come crumbling down into the dark. They will rise from the ashes with blood in their eyes and hate in their hearts and they will look to me as the harbinger of their demise. Their collective passion will pass to me, and I will revel in it."_

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><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Two - Homecoming

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><p>Revan's more recent memories of Coruscant were not of the pleasant sort. As the <em>Ebon <em>_Hawk_ drifted downward toward the transparisteel-covered ecumenopolis, he spotted the wide gap between the planet's orbital mirrors where one of his attack ships had tumbled through, throwing glass and scored wreckage in all directions.

His invasion had belted this world in a ring of fire and death. The last time Revan had been to Coruscant with his memories intact, he had tried to destroy it.

Debris knocked on the hull of the ship; ghosts of the past querying for entry. Revan sat in the copilot's seat, trying desperately to suppress the memories as their descent granted the skyscrapers and the grid of air traffic more and more detail. He inhaled, placed the image of Bastila's face at the forefront of his mind, and exhaled.

"You gonna be okay?" Carth asked, looking up from the controls. "You know, you don't have to do this."

Revan nodded. No, he didn't _have_ to do this, of course not—but that wasn't the point. There was very little that had transpired over the course of this last year that he'd _had_ to do. The _Endar __Spire_, Dantooine, Tatooine, Manaan, Korriban, Kashyyyk... they had all been optional ventures.

That line between what had to be done, and what common decency quietly requested was that lightsecond divide that separated Revan from people like Malak. There was no one forcing Revan to return to the Jedi Temple; common decency requested it, and Revan was answering.

He could've said all of this to his friend in place of a reply, but it was Carth who had taught him as much.

"We still have some time before we dock," Revan said, forcing a grin. "If you want to talk me out of this, now's your chance."

Carth laughed. "Experience tells me that trying to talk you out of anything is a terrible idea."

"Oh, come on."

"It wasn't my idea to chat it up with sand people back on Tatooine. That trial on Manaan wasn't my idea either." Carth took his hands off the controls and started counting on his fingers. "There was that swoop race on Taris, that odd detour to Yavin Station, and let's not forget that droid-crazy woman on Dantooine—"

"Hey!" Revan cut in. "I don't remember you trying to talk me out of these things. I probably would've been very receptive."

"Well, I did. And I wouldn't expect a man suffering from amnesia to remember, anyway."

"Aw." Revan laughed heartily and nearly brought his hand down on the console. Another piece of debris struck the viewport and stopped his laughter cold. He stared straight ahead, blankly, and picked out the massive sky-blue dome of the Galactic Senate amongst the clutter of Coruscant. Some echo of a memory told him that he had once desired to destroy that place. A plan built itself back up within his mind.

_Bring __one __of __the __Rakatan __cruisers __down __towards __the __planet. __Have __the __crew __bail__out __after __it __breaks __through __the __atmosphere. __Stand __aside __and __watch __gravity __take __care __of __the __rest._

_ Stand aside and watch the galactic center become a crater._

_ Stand aside and watch the Republic fall._

Revan found himself mouthing the words. He gritted his teeth together to stop himself and turned away from the planet. Sweat poured down his face. His hands shook. "This is going to end badly," he muttered.

Though he had certainly noticed his copilot's suffering, Carth chuckled despite the mood. "I think that's the story of our lives, Revan." He snapped his fingers a few times. "Hey, look at me."

Revan turned. "What?"

"Things are gonna be tough," Carth said sternly. "Things have always been tough. But no matter what happens, we'll all face it with you. We're your crew, Revan. Nothing's changed."

Revan scoffed. "I'd like to think plenty's changed."

"Well." Carth shrugged and returned to his controls, his fingers unconsciously plotting a course through the atmosphere. "If you don't believe me, just wait and see how many of them show up at the Jedi Temple."

Again, Revan could only scoff. The crew of the _Ebon __Hawk_ had only become such out of necessity. Now they were back among the living: the end of the road and home after all the lightyears they had put behind them. The crew had their own lives to get back to, as did Revan.

Carth seemed to be arguing otherwise, but all Revan could see ahead of him were fond farewells at the edge of the _Hawk_'s loading ramp. And that would be fine.

All good things must come to an end.

The _Ebon __Hawk_ trembled as she cut through the Coruscanti skies.

–

Light spilled into the High Council Spire from west, throwing the shadows of the Jedi Masters across the stone pillar in the center of the room. Revan took note of the scarring the statue had suffered; by a lightsaber, judging by the look of it. He walked around the statue, and bowed low to the Council when he finally stood before them.

He had sensed sympathy before in other people across the galaxy, but that feeling was not present in this chamber. The entire Council was in attendance, with the exception of Master Vandar Tokare, who had remained on Lehon to examine the ruins of the Infinite Empire. His hologram still occupied his seat, though it flickered every now and then with long-range interference.

For the longest time, nothing was said. Revan could taste the tension in the air.

The Council seating was arranged in an arc, and at its end sat Master Vrook Lamar. He was an old man, his face locked in a permanent sneer. At least that much hadn't changed in Revan's absence.

Back at the Dantooine Enclave, many years ago, Vrook had been a headmaster, and one of the major contributors to Revan and Malak's education. Losing a student to the dark side is a fate that few Masters even wished to consider. Vrook, however, had lost too many to count, both to the Mandalorian Crusade and to Revan's Civil War. Vrook had always been a strict teacher, but he never neglected to care for his students when they needed his guidance the most.

There was an emptiness in Master Vrook's spirit now, and Revan knew he had been the cause of it. He could hardly bare to make eye contact with the old teacher as he stood awaiting judgment.

"Revan," Vrook said, his voice gritty. It could have been a greeting, it could've been lamentation. Neither would've surprised Revan. "If I recall, you alone were summoned to this chamber."

Revan nodded. "Yes, Master."

Vrook turned his gaze past his old student to the crowd that had formed at the entrance. "Then why do I see your six companions and two droids standing in the High Council Chamber?"

Revan looked over his shoulder. The entire crew of the _Ebon __Hawk_ stood at his back, smiling or nodding, each showing their support in their own way. Mission gave him a thumbs-up and continued awing at the grandiosity of the room.

"They're with me," Revan said.

"Of course they are." Vrook's sneer remained. "I saw that side of you on Dantooine before your departure, and again this last year when you returned with your little group in tow. You have a way of making people see your side of things, don't you?"

Revan flinched. He knew exactly what Vrook was referring to. "I don't know what to say."

"As you can no doubt gather from the silence in this chamber, the feeling is mutual." He stood from his seat. "It was different when you returned to Dantooine. You were a shell of your former self. Certainly not the same Revan who lost his learner's braid under my watch." He folded his arms beneath the sleeves of his robes. "Now, you will answer for what was done to this Order!"

"Master Sunrider!" Bastila's emotions had become a whirlwind by then. No one seemed surprised by the outburst.

"Bastila..." Revan tried to stop her, but knew that wasn't going to happen. Not while she had that look in her eyes. She pushed past him and continued to address the Grand Master of the Jedi Order.

"Master Sunrider, with all due respect, this meeting has no merit," she said.

Master Nomi Sunrider took Bastila's words in stride, offering a motherly smile in return. "And with all due respect to you, Bastila Shan, I believe the Order is justified in requesting a statement from Revan. You must concede that much has happened since his departure."

"Well, I..." Bastila halted another complaint before it made it into the chamber, and calmed herself. "Forgive me, Master. I just feel that these proceedings are unjustified, given the events over Lehon."

"It is for us to decide the nature of these proceedings, I think, Miss Shan. Do not make such rash assumptions without cause." Her lesson for the day given, she dismissed Bastila with a firm glance.

"Yes, Master. My apologies." Bastila bowed and returned to the group to stand next to Jolee, catching Revan's grateful expression on the way.

At the other end of the chamber, a young woman in white robes, with stark hair of the same color, stood to address the chamber—her intent alight in her brilliant blue eyes. Revan knew her from somewhere, perhaps from Dantooine or the other places he had trained, and knew her well. Her name still managed to escape him.

"Master Sunrider is correct," the woman in white said. Revan could sense familiar pride in her tone. "Now that Revan's memories have recovered, I believe the Council, and indeed the entire Jedi Order, deserve some _semblance_ of an explanation for what happened during the Mandalorian Wars..." She paused, glaring at Revan. "...and _after_, of course."

Master Vandar's voice emerged from his flickering hologram. _"__Master __Atris, __this __is __not __a __trial. __Revan __is __still __a __member __of __this __Order, __and __should __be __respected __as __such.__"_

"Respect?" The woman in white, Master Atris, practically spat the word back at Revan's face. "Here before you, fellow Councilors, is the shatterpoint for the entire Sith War! Without this man, millions of Republic citizens and Jedi alike would still have their lives. _Millions_. There's not a single world in the Republic left unaffected by his march across the galaxy—"

"Master Atris..." Sunrider said.

"We did not let Surik leave this temple without judgment. We should be able to say the same for the menace who fed her to the dark!"

"Master Atris!" The heightened tone of Master Sunrider's voice snapped the dissent clear out of Atris's form. The woman in white yielded her argument and stood at attention. "That will be all."

Without a word, Atris reclaimed her seat, and ceased all eye contact with Revan as the meeting continued.

"Meetra Surik," Revan uttered without noticing. He had forgotten Atris, but Meetra's name conjured up a torrent of new memories that metastasized throughout his mind. Suddenly, she was everywhere. In places he had seen himself standing alone, now she was there with him. She had been there at Dxun and Onderon, Kashyyyk, the Arkanis Sector, and so many others. She had been there at Malachor V...

And after that: nothing.

Darth Revan had never bothered to figure out what had happened to his old friend after the Mandalorian Wars came to an abrupt end. He didn't want to make the same mistake twice.

"What has become of Meetra Surik?" Revan asked, thinking he knew the answer. The Jedi do not execute, but they can certainly remove malcontents from the equation. "She was lost to us after Malachor Five."

The entire Jedi Council shifted in their seats. Revan couldn't hide his surprise.

"She was lost to us, as well," Vrook said, his his eyes locked on the lightsaber scarring upon the stone statue. "She lives."

"If one could call that living," Atris added, still staring off into nothing.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Revan could feel anger brewing in his chest. If there was one question to which he did not want cryptic answers, this was it. "Where is she?" His mind wrote a question, but it came out as a demand.

The Council exchanged concerned glances. Sparks of nervousness escaped into the Force around them. Revan was having trouble making sense of it all.

"Where is she?" he repeated.

"She lives in exile," Master Sunrider finally said. "But Meetra Surik is not the prime concern of this meeting, and we will speak no more of this."

The Revan who had fled Taris, who had found his center on Dantooine, and had led his friends into the Star Forge... that man would have quietly nodded and listened to the Masters' wisdom. For Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith, the Butcher of Felucia, the Scourge of Malachor: it was a different story.

The anger in Revan's chest consumed him like a wildfire, and before he could properly bring it under control, his lightsaber was already in his hand, ignited. The very Force surrounding chamber's occupants was ablaze with the dark side. The two guards posted at the chamber's entrance fell to their knees, screaming and clutching their heads. A second later, the Council was performing a similar act.

Atris was the only one who had managed to draw her lightsaber in time, but even she looked sapped of energy. "Yield, Revan! Stop this!" Her voice faded to a whimper.

With his lightsaber aimed at the Council, his eye burning red, his thoughts scattered, he repeated himself in a voice that boomed through the Force: _"__Where __is __she!__"_

The glass of the spire rippled and cracked. Master Vandar's holoprojector sputtered, his image winked out of existence. But before Revan's anger could reach its apex, he heard a familiar voice cry out from somewhere in the madness.

"Revan!" Bastila cried, her voice cut with pain.

Revan turned and saw his friends struggling beneath the suffocating cloud the dark side had created. He gasped, "No!" and that was all it took. His thoughts rearranged themselves, his lightsaber was back on his belt, his anger retreated.

The Sith Lord was no longer in the room with him.

As soon as the cloud lifted, the pain was gone, as if it had never been there. The Council and the crew of the _Ebon __Hawk_ regained their composure. He watched as Bastila, Carth, Mission, Zalbaar, Jolee, Juhani, Canderous—the only people in the universe he could regard as friends—picked themselves up off the ground. His heart seemed to stop beating.

HK-47 was standing off to the side, his head swiveling around like he hadn't noticed a thing. "Commendation: My, that was an enjoyable event to behold. You've been holding out on me, Master. If only you performed such feats more frequently, the trip back to Coruscant would've been far more titillating."

Revan stood at the center of the High Council Chamber, his eyes welling with tears. He was just as surprised as everyone else in the room, in utter disbelief that he had been the one who had channeled the dark side into the heart of the Jedi Temple.

He wasn't sure what to do. A contingent of temple guards emerged from the entrance and surrounded him, blaster-rifles aimed at his head. He stood unmoving, his intensified connection to the Force dimmed until he could hear voices as faint as echoes. From somewhere in time, he heard a voice he'd known very well.

_"__I __saw __the __fall __of __the __Republic,__"_ the echo said. _"__I __saw __everything __that __you __and __I __stand __for __rest __on __a __razor's __edge __so __fine __it __cut __us __to __do __nothing __at __all.__"_

_ "Revan's plan was our light in the darkness, dim though it may have been. But when you've been suffocating in the dark for so long, you cling to whatever light you have left. His plan was our way to see daybreak again. His plan was our way back home."_

The Council stared at him, fear in their eyes.

_"__You __can't __do __this __to __me!__"_

_ "You can't leave me like this!"_

_ "I can't feel anything! Please!"_

Revan drifted with the euphoria of the vision. Hearing Meetra's voice after so many years, despite the terror that lined it, brought a weak smile to his face. On Dantooine, Malak and Meetra had been his universe, closer than blood. The three of them were often mistaken for family by the way they were constantly at each other's side, with only a bright future ahead of them.

_Bright __future_. That's what the headmasters at the Enclave had always said. Years later, Malak was dead, Meetra was in exile, and Revan still hung in the ether, swinging pendulously between light and dark.

Bright future, indeed.

Revan suddenly had no wish to continue this meeting. He bowed to the Council. "Forgive me, Councilors," he said. "I fear we must continue this discussion at another time." He turned and walked away. On his way back to the turbolift, he caught Bastila by the hand and kissed her fingers. Despite all that had happened, there was only concern in her expression.

"I'm sorry," he said to her, and continued on.

Atris, fully recovered, stormed after Revan but stopped at the statue. "You have not been dismissed, Revan! Stop at once!" She motioned to the guards. "Restrain him!"

Before the guards could advance, Revan made a gesture with his hand. There was a wave of clicking and snapping sounds from around the room, and the blaster-rifles the guards brandished collectively disintegrated into their base components, making a clatter like rain upon the floor.

The only sound in the room was Canderous's hearty laughter as Revan entered the turbolift and began his descent.


	5. Riding the Upturn

_"Do you claim any affiliation with the rogue group of Jedi, known to the Republic commonwealth as the Revanites?"_

_Meetra's head tilted slightly. "I wasn't aware of such a title, but if you're referring to the group that followed Jedi Knight Revan to war: yes, I was affiliated."_

_"Then, I suppose the most obvious question is: Why did you defy us?"_

_"Seemed like a good idea at the time."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Three - Riding the Upturn

* * *

><p>A resounding thud rocked the sandcrawler as its primary gear fell into place, followed by the deafening whine of its engines and the clockwork clanking of its treads as the mechanical beast made its way over one of the larger dunes on the route. The Czerka pilots had different names for the dune, each crew rotation did, in fact. The most common one was "The-Pain-In-The-Aft," since the vehicle's ill-conceived weight distribution ensured that the rear treads never pulled their share of the load, making the whole climb a pain to endure.<p>

As soon as The-Pain-In-The-Aft came into view, an auxiliary crew of mechanics were dispatched to keep an eye on the rear transmission. A fire breaking out was commonplace, and a busted transmission was always a possibility, but Sandcrawler 223 had never failed to complete its run. Their strict deadlines had gone out the window long ago, but whether or not they made delivery was never in question.

It was something.

Meetra looped her blaster-rifle's strap over her shoulder and leaned herself up against the wall of one of the exit corridors. Loose items not stored away in the safety cabinets—as per corporate regulations—slid across the floor and piled against the wall next to her. The sandcrawler was beginning its ascent.

While the vehicle tipped up at a forty-five degree angle to make it up and over The-Pain-In-The-Aft, Meetra often took this opportunity to relax, since she wasn't so much leaning against the wall now as much as she was lying down on it. She rested her head back, tried to tune out the scraping sound of unsecured furniture running free with gravity, and lit up her tabac pipe when the climb became steady.

She turned her head toward the bright curtain of light at the exit and exhaled, allowing the smoke to eddy in place before being sucked out into the open air.

Someone coughed outside, prompting Meetra to roll her eyes.

"That stuff'll kill ya," a man called out to her.

"Wouldn't be the first time something's tried," Meetra replied, knowing who'd be showing his face soon.

On cue, her coworker's hands found a grip on the other side of the doorway and he pulled himself inside, doing his best to make it look effortless. The Korun nodded in greeting and took a seat next to her on the wall.

"Always in the same spot," he said.

"So you tell me, Zand," Meetra replied with a smile. "And you always find your way here."

"Coincidence." His usual answer. "Did you hear? The new route's going in."

"No kidding?" She briefly considered a Czerka route that wouldn't include this blasted dune. "They tired of paying for new transmissions?"

Zand laughed. "I guess. The engineers, the equipment, the time it spends at the yards for repair... The final bill must've been a little too steep when they finally looked at it."

"About time."

"Yeah." Zand looked out through the exit. "Still, I think I might miss The-Pain."

"Miss The-Pain?" The words might as well have been Trandoshan. "Are you sure we work on the same 'crawler?" She tapped her pipe out on the wall, gravity kept the ashes there.

Zand recognized the point she was making. His laughter continued. "I know, I know. But this route has character, you know? How much fun is this new route gonna be if it runs a dry lake bed?"

Meetra eyed her coworker incredulously. "Fun?"

"Fun," said Zand.

"I think we're fated to disagree here."

Zand nudged her on the shoulder. "Come on, tell me you don't have at least a little bit of fun. Just a little bit."

The truth of the matter was Meetra, in the few months since she had started working for Czerka, hadn't once looked at her job as anything more than just that. She couldn't remember having fun, or coming home to her cramped adobe and feeling anything beyond relief that it was all over for now.

But that wasn't what Zand wanted to hear.

"Sometimes," she said, working her chapped lips into a smile. She found it remarkably difficult to lie to Zand. "So, dry lake bed. Does that mean they're blasting away that part of Fenbark Ridge?"

Zand pointed to the other wall. "And then straight on through to Mos Eisley."

"Wow." Meetra liked the sound of that. As it stood, a round trip between Anchorhead and Mos Eisley took the better part of twelve hours—if nothing broke or exploded en route—but this new route would shave a couple hours off of their travel time. "I could live with that."

"I guess," he said, sounding a little depressed: which was a new trick for Zand. "Hey, are you gonna head over to the cantina after we get back?"

"No!" Meetra said, much, much louder than she'd intended. "I mean... no, probably not tonight."

Zand shot her a sidelong glance. "Why?"

"I don't have to go to The Tauntaun every night. Maybe I have things to do."

"Okay." Zand held up his arms. "Was just askin'. Looked like you had a good time last night."

"All right. Well, I'll take your word on that."

"Took off without a word, though. Wasn't sure where you went."

"That makes two of us."

The sandcrawler shuddered, the rear treads slipped, a cloud of dust poured into the corridor. Meetra felt the vehicle slide backwards a few yards before regaining traction. She knew that somewhere in the belly of the 'crawler, there was a group of engineers shouting curses at the ancient machinery. The thought made her smile.

When they began to climb The-Pain again, she looked over and saw Zand was still looking at her. There was concern there. She could've laughed. _Concern._

For the woman who had destroyed nearly a million lives at Malachor V.

_The __universe __has __a __sick __sense __of __humor._

Meetra's feet touched the floor. The sandcrawler was leveling out. "About time we were getting back to our posts, eh?" From her pocket, she produced a set of tinted goggles and slipped them over her eyes.

"You know, if you have problems it's better to dust them off than bury them," Zand said to Meetra before she cleared the doorway. "I can tell you're just like half the folks here."

Meetra was growing impatient. "How's that, Zand?" she asked, flatly.

"You didn't come here by choice, did you?"

"It's choice that gets us anywhere."

Zand perhaps recognized that he was overstepping his bounds. He nodded. "Just want you to know you can talk to me about anything, Valystra."

In any other life, she would've told him everything, bared her soul—but what good would that do now? She'd have to start from the top, of course: her past life as a Jedi, as a hero of the Republic, and then as a destroyer of worlds. How she now lived in exile, a faceless vagrant, more than likely unable to use her real name in public ever again. Stripped of the Force, stripped of her life, stripped of her very identity.

Maybe she'd start with the easy stuff first, like how her name wasn't really Valystra Koryan. Easy, compared to everything else.

But instead, she just nodded as graciously as she could, and mentally waved at the chance to confess as it passed by. "Thanks, Zand." She pulled the blaster-rifle off her shoulder. "If I have anything worth saying, you'll be the first to hear it."

She saw a gentle smile form across the Korun's face—and then she saw stars. Her body slammed against the walkway railing and was sent spinning over the edge. Somewhere in the chaos, she had caught the rail, and when her mind finally caught up to what had happened, she found herself dangling off the side of the 'crawler, with nothing but a ten meter drop and hard sand to cushion her fall.

Fire bloomed from beneath the rear treads, debris kicked the side of the sandcrawler and the entire vehicle leaned to one side. Meetra felt her grip on the railing slip as the sandcrawler tore itself apart from within. She struggled to bring her other hand up, fighting against her aching muscles and the ringing in her ears. Something struck her on the shoulder and opened her up. She felt the warmth of blood drip down her back.

The familiar burn of a blaster wound.


	6. I: Riptide

I: Riptide

* * *

><p><strong>[3,961 BBY - Five Years Ago]<strong>

The Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders had held Manaan for two standard days when Revan and the Republic Army approached the local capital of Ahto City. The soldiers approached from all directions, riding a flotilla of amphibious landing craft through the churning waters and thick mist of the aquatic world. They were three minutes away from the landing zone, and exactly two meters below radar range.

Their overall mission was to, of course, liberate the world and its inhabitants. Revan's justification for an unusual operation of this scale was twofold: Manaan was in a prime location relative to the nearby hyperspace routes, and could be conceivably used as a staging area going forward; secondly, the Mandalorians were presently sitting on one of the largest kolto farms in Known Space, and allowing the enemy such a resource would be irresponsible at best.

With the kolto farms under Mandalorian control, they would be able to deliver wave after wave of medical support to the front lines, and get their wounded back on the field faster than the Republic could remove them.

"Unacceptable," Revan had told Admiral Karath—and, thankfully, the admiral agreed.

And so the army approached from the four corners.

_"__Two __minutes __to __the __LZ, __General,__"_ Commander Acys said over the comm. _"__Still __negative __activity __at __points __Blade, __Chant, __and __Gold, __over.__"_

Revan propped himself up into the pilot's nest, channeling the Force to keep himself balanced as the landing craft cut through agitated waters at unsafe speeds. He managed to find a view of the open ocean beyond the platoon of Republic soldiers and the bow ramp of the LCVP, but the mist was still keeping visibility at a constant five meters. Though Revan knew there here hundreds of landing craft surrounding his own, he couldn't see them with the naked eye if he tried.

He pulled a pair of multi-spec goggles over his eyes and adjusted for infrared. The mist disappeared into nothingness, and the massive Selkath artificial island-city lit up in a haze of white light. He thumbed the goggles' intensity, bringing faux beaches and the shine of the city's sleek architecture into full view. He scanned the opened tiers of the island, paying special attention to positions of strategic importance.

No sniper rifles poking out over the flanking structures, no artillery or machine gun nests in position over the beach. There was nothing waiting for their army at the front door.

Revan smiled, catching the sight of the rest of the Republic flotilla on either side of his own craft, speeding across the sea with all due abandon. He clicked off his goggles and spoke into his comm's reciever. "Copy that, Commander. Be advised, point Spire is also in the clear. I repeat: point Spire is open."

A few of the soldiers in the craft cheered and clapped each other on the shoulder. They'd be walking right into the city. Against even the best estimations, they had achieved complete surprise.

_"__Roger __that, __General. __LZ __is __one __minute __out,__"_ Acys came back, excitement clearly marking his tone. _"__See __you __in __the __town __square.__"_

"Take your time. They've already cleared the path for us. Revan out." Revan stepped back down into the hold and gently pushed his way through the soldiers to stand directly in front of the ramp. As always, he wanted to ensure that his boots would be the first to touch the battleground.

It would be a long day of fighting, despite the surprise. The army would still have to push their way to the upper tier, through a labyrinth of corridors and interior roads that held absolutely no definition outside various degrees of sleekness and monochromity, and then disable the anti-orbital and air cannons atop the city's taller skyscrapers. With the cannons down, the army would only have to sit back and watch as the fleet did the rest.

The surprise would make things easier, but only briefly. Revan knew the Mandalorians took sneak attacks rather personally. They'd be fighting for every inch.

"Thirty seconds!" the pilot managed to shout over the engines and crashing waves. "May the Force be with you all!"

"Remember, get off the beach ASAP!" Revan reminded his troops. "If we don't make it into the lower tier, we'll have zero cover. Kick yourselves up the steps into the city and don't stop for anything! Do you get me?"

_"__Sir, __yes, __sir!__"_ the soldiers roared in return.

"For whom do we fight!"

_"__For __the __Republic!__"_

Revan ignited his lightsaber, holding it aloft for all to see. "Again!"

_"__For __the __Republic!__"_

The engines of the LCVP whined down, cut off. They struck something solid and the craft slid to a stop.

"Clear the ramp!"

A loud thud from the locking piston and the ramp dropped. Revan charged forward, a hundred platoons from a hundred emptied crafts followed in his wake, shouting against the adrenaline pumping through their veins. The blue blaze of his lightsaber permeated the mist around him. He shone like a beacon—and the soldiers followed his light through the blinding mist.


	7. Forgotten Corners

_Vrook turned away, hiding his tensed hands beneath the sleeves of his robe. It's not anger, he told himself. "I may protest, but I've not denied your favorite students any of their extravagant requests. I protested Revan and Malak's incessant travels to the Coruscant Temple. I protested their embrace of the juyo lightsaber form. I protest, but I never deny, and now I must protest again. Humor me."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Four - Forgotten Corners

* * *

><p>The Temple Archives pulsed with the energy of a thousand generations' worth of history. Holos of ancient architecture and the faces of preeminent members of the Jedi Order, hundreds of years removed from their mortal coils, hovered overhead and phased in and out of existence. Rows upon rows of data cores and physical tomes and scrolls lined shelves that extended up toward the vaulted, skylit ceiling, humming with power, promising a wealth of information and countless lifetimes of enlightenment.<p>

Revan walked the red and gold carpet into the depths of the Archives, passing beneath the statues of Relin Duur and Drev Hassin, Memit Nadill and Jori Daragon. He spotted display cases containing lightsabers from antiquity, the hilts still faithfully tethered to archaic power packs.

Padawans and Knights were scattered about the aisles, searching for things that were not immediately found. A few of them lifted their eyes to watch Revan as he passed, perhaps recognizing that he did not belong but not caring enough to do anything further. Revan knew that wouldn't last; if he wasn't quick with his task here, he'd be the center of attention soon enough.

He moved with purpose down one of the older aisles, where the cases were an amalgam of polished stone and wooden shelves. There was more dust here than was usual, the musty, vanilla smell of aging publications. And beyond those bookcases was a secondary learning room, long forgotten by most of the students and younger Masters.

He had discovered this room during his last visit to the Archives. A more innocent time, when a learner's braid still hung from his dark locks. When Malak had still been around to revel in the joy of the discovery at his side.

Revan noticed he had stopped walking. The sight of the old room raised a few more unbidden memories from the grave. He could hear murmurs in Malak's voice, see a smile from a time when every new achievement was cause for celebration. The galaxy seemed a brighter place then. The room hadn't changed a bit, though it seemed so much else had.

The learning room was dark and completely powered down. The only light source was the runoff from the rest of the Archives, casting a doorway-shaped island of light on the first few terminals within. Revan took up the first seat he could find and powered up the terminal through a series of switches and dials. Power audibly circulated through the interior of the machine, circuits clicked, data readers spun to life. Revan caught a brief whiff of ozone as cooling fans evacuated decades' worth of dust.

He cleaned off the crystal display, allowing light from the screen to push its way into the room. A few red error messages streamed across the top of the readout, but he troubleshot his way through them until the system was finally ready to accept input. The screen continuously flickered and dimmed as the age-old connections struggled to function.

Without wasting any time, Revan accessed the Archive Databank, effortlessly weaving his way through the thick waves of information. Given the limitations of the terminal, he had to call up different articles through a series of hubs and continue on through linked archives. The Great Hyperspace War begot The Battle of Kirrek begot The Great Sith War and so on.

He waded through the hubs until the Dark Reaper Campaign led directly into the Mandalorian Crusade. Revan's name was already appearing throughout the various articles. He couldn't resist reading about his own exploits, realizing just how much seemed like they had happened to someone else.

His charge up the Sky Ramp at Iziz was well-documented, as were the Kashyyyk and Manaan campaigns. Events afterward were chronicled piecemeal until there was nothing at all—that is, until the Battle of Malachor V occurred. He almost couldn't bring himself to read the words, but censoring the battle from his mind now would be a disservice to the countless soldiers he had sacrificed.

_To __save __countless __more_, a specter in his mind added.

He suppressed the voice and called up the list of commanding officers on the Republic side of the battle. Near the very top: Admiral Saul Karath, Captain Lin Morris, and Generals: Revan Versirath, Malak of Quelii, and Meetra Surik.

Following the hub Meetra's name was connected to, he found a dense list of articles comparable to his own, oftentimes linked directly to him. He sorted them out by date and found the latest article published with her name. It was an official entry by one of the Councilors.

He attempted to access it, but was met by a flashing error message that read: _CLASSIFIED._

A reactive program began the process of overriding and locking down his terminal, but the age of the machine ended up working in his favor as incompatible processes fought each other. He exploited this brief window and countered the override; on any other terminal, the lockdown would've been instant.

A few more commands later, he was back at the link into the classified article. It would be tough getting into it, but he'd hacked through worse.

"Somehow I knew I'd find you here." The shadow of a man stood in the doorway. Revan had sensed his old teacher approaching some time ago. "I remember Malak leading me here because you couldn't be pulled away from the terminal. You sat in here for hours and hours."

Master Vrook took a seat at the terminal next to Revan, his head drooping, his gaze distant, like he was finally finished. He ran a hand along the edge of the display. His hand pulled back dust. "I used to come here often when I was still a learner, sift through page after page until I fell asleep on the keyboard." He sat back, took a patient look around the room. "The lights were still on back then."

"So you're not here to pull me away again," Revan said, trying the get to the heart of the matter. "What did you come here for?"

Vrook seemed not to hear the question. "Things move so fast in the galaxy. Maybe I'm just getting slower." He rubbed the dust from his fingers. "Or maybe that's the one lesson that the Order never bothered to learn. Building things to last has never worked, not in this universe; it all gets left behind."

"Why are you doing this, Master?" Revan asked, startled by Vrook's atypical candor. "I know what I sensed in that chamber. It was fear. What did Meetra Surik do to prompt such a reaction?"

Vrook finally made eye contact. "You speak as if you've never heard of Malachor Five."

"Don't hide behind that," Revan said and nodded to the classified link. "What happened in that chamber when Meetra returned?"

Vrook's face contorted, age and stress lines merged into each other. His emotions waxed and waned, manipulating the Force around him, until indifference won out, with that familiar sense of fear thriving in the undercurrent. "She never returned," he said, voice weary. "Not really."

Revan could feel impatience brewing. He didn't speak again until he had stifled it. "What happened in that chamber?" he repeated sharply.

Vrook visibly fought for words until he finally said, "There was nothing in the room with us that day." He shook his head, dwelling on the memory. "There was nothing. She stood before us, but she wasn't really there. She spoke, but nothing was said. The Force did not acknowledge her because it simply wasn't there."

Fear found its way into his voice. "Only echoes remained."

Revan could see that the old Jedi Master was fighting an internal battle. For what reason, he could not tell, but he suspected that he'd already been given the answer in some form. He tried to keep Vrook on topic. "Echoes? I don't understand, Master."

The old Master laughed, despite his weariness, his fear. He wiped something away from his cheek. "Neither do we," he said. "Perhaps that failing belongs to us, as well. We made her an exile before we could even understand why. She was an enigma, a wound in the Force that we just wanted gone."

He reached over and tapped a few keys on Revan's terminal, unlocking the classified file. "She was escorted off Coruscant and placed aboard a Republic cruiser bound for Nar Shaddaa. Where she went from there is anyone's guess."

"I see." Revan stood and bowed to his old teacher. "Thank you, Master Vrook."

Vrook pretended not to hear. "I fail to see how any of this information will help you find her."

"Perhaps anywhere else in the galaxy, finding her would be impossible." Revan shrugged. "But on Nar Shaddaa, you just go where the grime is deepest and keep an eye out for footprints."


	8. The Walk of the Wounded: Part I

_"You made it."_

_Meetra smiled, but it didn't hold the same brightness that it'd had back on Dantooine. Right now, it seemed purely a formality. "You had doubts?"_

_"A few," Revan said._

_"Then you had a lot less than me."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Five - The Walk of the Wounded: Part I

* * *

><p>There had once been a Jedi Knight named Meetra Surik, who had led her soldiers to a long shot victory on the jungle moon of Dxun, fighting through the elements and weeks old Mandalorian entrenchments along the way. A Jedi who had stared down hundreds of opponents across a dozen star systems and held them without fear, without the slightest thought of defeat.<p>

As Meetra presently hung from the railing of a burning sandcrawler, feeling gravity and weariness tearing away her grip, she wondered where that Jedi had gone.

With her teeth bared, she pulled her other arm up high enough to get a second grip on the railing. The wound on her shoulder immediately complained, and loudly. She screamed, her hand slipped, and once again she dangled free over the sheer drop by her tired fingers.

A rocket appeared from her periphery and slammed into the bridge of the 'crawler, splintering the entire section. She saw a body flop out of the opening, hanging halfway out, burning without movement. Another blaster bolt connected with metal only a few centimeters away from her good arm. Then another, closer this time.

The sandcrawler's attackers weren't trying to kill her quickly; they were trying to make her fall. They were playing with her.

More of the vehicle's damaged treads sank into the sand, threatening to send the whole thing over onto its side. If the attackers didn't shoot Meetra and if she didn't end up falling, she'd live long enough to see herself smashed by the bulk of a sandcrawler.

Maybe she should've died back on Dxun. Being cut down by a Mandalorian blade made for a more elegant obituary. The Republic would've at least gotten her real name printed; dying here meant she'd forever be Valystra Koryan, the drunk with a made-up backstory that could only be gleaned through her arrest record.

"Great," she said with a smile, her hand slipping. "Thanks, Vima."

Meetra lost her grip and awaited the fall. She guessed it would be a familiar feeling.

A dark figure appeared over the railing and frantically grabbed at her arm. Zand caught her by her wrist, but just barely. He pressed himself against the railing and gripped her with both hands.

"You're gonna have to help me out here." He groaned as he pulled her back up onto the balcony. "At least a little bit."

Ignoring the pain, Meetra used her bad arm to help reel herself in. Blaster bolts followed after her, impacting the hull just below her boots. One harmlessly burned a hole straight through the loose fold of her tunic and out the other side. She yelped at the close call but kept her mind on the climb.

Uttering a loud roar, Zand channeled the rest of his strength to pull Meetra the rest of the way onto the slanted balcony. She lost her balance immediately and collapsed onto her side.

"No time for that," Zand said, pulling Meetra up by her waist. "Get inside!"

The two pulled themselves inside the exit corridor, blaster bolts landing all around them until they were safe inside—or as safe as they could be for the moment. Fighting gravity and the awkward slant of the 'crawler, they pushed deeper inside, past the galley and the equipment lockers. The corridor leading up to the bridge was beginning to belch smoke into their path.

Zand ripped open one of the equipment lockers and pulled two breathing masks from their hooks. He tossed one to Meetra. "You know the drill," he said with a weak smile.

Meetra answered with a token grin of her own, then slipped the mask over her face. A few breaths later, the air was being filtered. It tasted stale, but at least she wasn't breathing in fumes. "Can you hear me?" she shouted through the mask.

Zand nodded. "Loud and almost clear."

"The scout speeders might still be intact," she said, pointing aft. "We have a clear shot at them."

Zand looked down the corridor, then back to the smoke. "Maybe we should make a quick sweep for survivors."

Something struck the top of the 'crawler, creating a deafening _clank_ and causing the vehicle to lean even more. Meetra nearly lost her footing.

"Something just landed on us," she said, "and I can only guess we're being boarded."

"By who?" Zand asked, floored by the prospect. "The sand people are the only ones who've tried, but we have a deal with them."

"Sand people don't have ships." Meetra was sure the sound they'd heard could only be a large speeder or shuttle landing on them. "If we're being boarded, they'll be here in a hurry. We have to move. Now." She caught the flicker of concern in Zand's eyes. "You don't have to say it. Quick sweep, then we're out of here."

–

Their "quick sweep" hadn't been necessary, though. Every deck they passed through had been emptied; tools, equipment, and half-eaten meals littered the ground, making it resoundingly clear that everyone had taken the first opportunity to make for the exits and speeders.

Meetra was already preparing to find the small docking bay without any of its speeders. Their options for escape would become extremely limited in that scenario.

They briefly passed through engineering, wading through smoke and pockets of super-heated air. They hopped over broken gangways and took a detour through one of the air vents, following it around until they were safely on the other side of the bay. During those brief moments when the smoke cleared, they could see the bodies of the engineers scattered about, severed limbs intermingling, oil fires turning the entire room into an impromptu funeral pyre.

At the last passage before the docking bay, they heard heavy footfalls on the deck above. A lot of them. Zand reflexively raised his blaster-rifle, listening closely and following the sound with his eyes. The intruders were heading away from the docking bay, but that particular corridor would lead them straight down into engineering.

"We might have company pretty soon." Zand started walking again. Meetra followed. "Do you have another weapon on you?"

Meetra had lost her blaster-rifle during the initial attack, and no sidearm. She had another weapon, concealed in a holster strapped onto the small of her back—but she would only use it as a last resort. Plus, it would only give Zand more to worry about.

"There are some welding lasers packed away in the docking bay for repairs," she replied. "I'll grab one of those."

"All right," he exhaled. "Hopefully, we won't need them."

But their worst case scenario was dragged into reality as they entered the compact docking bay. The main hatch was wide open, exposed to the midday suns, revealing several vacant parking frames that had previously held their chance for escape.

Even still, it might have been a small mercy. Beyond the hatch, smeared across the sands, was a black scar of smoldering speeder parts that extended all the way out to the base of The-Pain-In-The-Aft. From the looks of things, not one crewer had made it off the sandcrawler alive.

The odds of their survival took such a nosedive that Meetra felt her stomach churn against it. They had nowhere else to go. She could stand to see her own life come to an end, but Zand... For a kind soul such as his to be snuffed out, she just couldn't bear the thought.

Blasterfire knocked the two out of their stupor. A body fell past the mouth of the docking bay and out of sight. They heard the soft thud a moment later.

"I'm, ah..." Zand cradled his head, weaving fingers through his dreadlocks. His eyes were wide, unblinking. "I'm not sure how we're gonna get out of this one, Val." His voice stuttered with fear. It made Meetra's skin flush with gooseflesh.

More blasterfire at their backs, echoing away from engineering. Their time was running out, in more ways than one. Meetra closed her eyes, attempting in vain to touch the Force, to will an answer out of it. An echo returned her call, then silence.

She gasped and covered her mouth, felt tears escaping her eyes as the shock of the rejection struck through her form. Master Sunrider had once told her that if nothing else, the Force will always be a constant in the life of any living creature—from thinking beings all the way down to the smallest blade of grass.

_Constant._

For everything except her.

Something back in engineering—a section of rusted gangway most likely—groaned and collapsed, sending a loud metal against metal crash echoing through the corridor. It startled Meetra, but it also forced a recent memory back up to the surface. Her mind made some sense out of it and prompted a smile out of her.

"Stars above!" She grabbed Zand by the shoulder, who looked back at her in a concerned way, like she had gone mad. "I've got it!"

"My shoulder?"

"No!" She pulled her hand back and socked him. "I've got us a way out of here."

Zand rubbed at the spot on his shoulder she had hit. "How so?"

"Something landed on the 'crawler!" she practically shouted. "That's our way out!"

Zand's look of concern meshed with fear. He must have fully accepted that his coworker had lost it. "What? The ship the attackers came in on? _Their_ ship?" He motioned to the docking bay hatch, where body had just flown by: his whole argument summed up in one motion.

"What other choice do we have?" She shrugged helplessly. "I mean, we can wait for them right here, or we can make a run for it out there and see how far we get before they gun us down."

The Korun relaxed, looked back over his shoulder toward the corridor that would soon welcome their attackers, and then out to the mirage-ridden sands beyond the hatch—kilometer after endless kilometer, and not one scrap of cover to protect them.

He groaned loudly, as if to expel his fear, and then nodded in resolve. His finger played at the trigger of his blaster-rifle.

"Let's steal us a ship."

–

Taking the corridor back through the sandcrawler wasn't an option, not with their attackers making their way through it, which meant they had a bit of a climb to deal with.

They stepped outside and onto the docking bay hatch, listening for any sounds of movement above. When the two decided the coast was momentarily clear, they skirted around the hull to the port side of the vehicle, where gravity would be working in their favor for the climb.

Most of the upper exterior of the 'crawler had been armor plated, but after the agreement Czerka Corp made with the local Tuskans, the attacks on company property dipped to almost nothing. Neglect and a cut budget ensured that when small sections of the armor plating rusted off, there was no material or personnel to replace it. This made things much easier for climbing as Meetra and Zand made their way to the observation deck.

She wasn't sure who they'd find when they reached the top. _No __one_ was the preferable outcome, but beyond Tuskan raiders, she couldn't imagine who'd have the firepower—or even the willingness to use such firepower—to make an attack on a rust bucket of a sandcrawler.

They hadn't even picked up their shipment of mining materials or their full crew allotment from Mos Eisley yet. The vehicle parts themselves might be worth something, but not enough to justify a raid. Something just didn't add up.

Near the top, Zand began climbing one-handed, with the other hand holding his blaster-rifle at ready. Meetra pulled herself up slowly, just enough so that she could get a good look at everything.

The observation deck wasn't especially large, but the shuttle had made room. Its landing struts came down on twisted railing and the deck chairs of the crew's informal lounge. They had often come up here in the past during their breaks to relax, have a drink of the bootleg liquor that was always being smuggled aboard, and bullseye some womp rats as the 'crawler rolled by their dens.

Now the entire thing was crushed beneath the struts of a MPS11-Skyhauler, and whatever remained was hidden away beneath the shadows of the craft's three wings. From the belly of the shuttle, a loading ramp had been lowered onto the pazaak table. A shame; one of the captains had bought that table for the crew in a rare moment of generosity—the captain that had been on duty today.

"There has to be someone on board," Zand pointed out. "They wouldn't just leave it."

"Agreed, but I can't imagine they'd leave that many behind to watch it."

"Why?"

Meetra pointed to the front end of the shuttle. "The cockpit is facing the only entryway below decks. You don't need more than one or two men to watch that. All they have to do is fire the turret they have mounted there on the side, and they have the whole topside covered."

"Okay. So, what does that mean for us?"

She directed her finger down toward the deck's entryway. "That means you cover me while I sneak on-board and deal with the guy who pulled overwatch duty."

"I don't know, Val..." He started shaking his head and didn't stop. "I don't know. Maybe... Maybe I should deal with the guy in the shuttle and—"

Meetra wasn't sure why, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. She kissed Zand on the lips, feeling the tension drain out of him all at once. It wasn't the most romantic thing to ever happen on Tatooine, not while her sun-chapped lips provided the Korun with sandpaper kisses, but she thought he could use the release—and she wasn't convinced she didn't need it, too.

She pulled back, watched Zand pull his way out of a haze, then said, "Remember the plan?"

Zand pushed one of his deadlocks away from his face, revealing a steadfast gaze. "Please be careful, Val."

"I'm always careful," she said with a wink.

"The Tauntaun," Zand reminded Meetra, drawing a sneer out of her. "Be careful."

With a sigh, Meetra rolled under the railing and onto the observation deck. She hunched low, bit her lip to keep her mind from drifting, and approached the shuttle.


	9. The Walk of the Wounded: Part II

_"Then let's cut to the chase here. It was Revan who gambled with the lives of the galaxy, and you were just following a friend." Vrook sighed. "A very poor time to give in to peer pressure, Miss Surik."_

_"I understood my choice, as I do now."_

_"So, you would follow him again, given all that has transpired since?"_

_"Without question."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Six - The Walk of the Wounded: Part II

* * *

><p>"The sandcrawler's starting to lean again, sir. If this keeps up, I don't think I'll be able sit tight much longer." Meetra heard the pilot loud and clear as she approached the loading ramp. The man didn't sound at all cautious, perhaps indicative of the certainty he was feeling, which would make sneaking up on him that much less of a challenge.<p>

She also focused in on how the pilot had said "I don't think _I'll_ be able to sit tight," not _we'll_. This pilot could be the only one on the Skyhauler.

_"We're almost done with our first sweep. I need you to stay perched up there until the absolute last second, Ka'wren. We can't risk anyone getting away."_

"Will do, sir," the pilot, Ka'wren, replied. "Here's wishing you good hunting again."

_"I'll take what I can get,"_ the voice said. _"We'll be back topside in a few minutes. Over and out."_

Meetra heard the click of the comm switching off. She had already made it inside the main hold where the passengers and equipment would otherwise be stored. A Skyhauler was large enough to hold ten passengers comfortably, fifteen if they didn't mind the lack of any kind of buffer zone. Taking into account the attackers who had been taking shots at her from the surrounding desert, there was probably a decent number of aggressors running around below decks.

She and Zand would have no chance against them all, but a single oblivious pilot, on the other hand, wouldn't be much to fuss over.

At the front end of the hold was a small ladder that led into the cockpit. She could see the top of the pilot's helmet from where she stood, rocking from side to side as though he had already checked out for the day.

She would only have one chance at this.

Taking a deep breath as slow as she could manage, she began to pull herself up the ladder, minding each step and every move she made, no matter how subtle. She thought for sure one of the steps would creak, that her breathing would hitch, that her tunic would rub against her skin a little too loudly. That if she blinked wrong, the pilot would run to investigate the noise.

But Pilot Ka'wren was still absently bobbing his head, humming a little tune to himself all the while. His hands were tapping on the console to the beat of a song Meetra wasn't hearing. Massacre aside, he seemed like a pleasant sort.

Meetra shrugged when she reached the top. "Sorry." And slipped her belt around the pilot's neck. He resisted, tugging at the garrote immediately. They always go for the belt, she reminded herself. Always.

The man's legs frantically kicked at the aileron pedals, causing a hydraulic whine as the wings responded. He finally got the hint, turning his attention away from the belt and toward the console in front of him. He pressed the few buttons he could reach, which did nothing more than turn the cockpit lights on and off, but he was aiming for the comms panel.

Ka'wren's body went slack a little, but he continued fighting. Meetra had to brace herself against the back of the pilot's seat to keep the pressure steady against his throat. This wouldn't be her first time killing a man, and it wouldn't be her first time hoping against chance that it would be her last.

In a last expulsion of desperation, the pilot clumsily brought his boot up high and then slammed it against the console, again aiming for the comms panel. His heavy boot came down again, again, again, smashing the small altimeter, kicking the mixture knob across the cockpit. One last time, he tried to hit the panel, but missed.

Perhaps seeing the lost opportunity, he began to submit. His body slackened further until his swollen hands fell to his lap. Meetra pulled the dead pilot out of his seat and kicked him down into the hold. The thump it made was enough to bring Zand out of hiding. He saw the body and seemed relieved that it didn't belong to Meetra.

"No more questions out of me," Zand said, moving up the ladder to join his friend. "Just keep on leading the way, and I will most definitely follow."

Meetra knew they didn't have time to chat. She pointed to the copilot's seat. "Transfer the gun turret controls over to your side, and reel in the ramp when you're done."

Zand nodded, taking a second to familiarize himself with the controls. A few buttons later, the ship was sealed and he had full control over the guns. "Let's get the hell out of here, Val."

"Roger that." Meetra's hands moved with half-forgotten memories, powering up the shuttle's systems while taking as many shortcuts as she could safely make. She didn't care if cutting corners meant they crashed just outside of Mos Eisley, just as long as they actually got there.

"Engines are green," she said, lifting the lever to feed more energy into propulsion. "Repulsors are charging. Wings check out. Ten seconds." She began to count down in her head. _Only ten seconds._ She smiled. _Nine. Eight. Seven._

A man wearing Mandalorian armor, spattered with blood, stepped out from the exit corridor on the sandcrawler. He brandished a modified heavy rifle and a multi-spec artificial right eye. He didn't seem concerned as he ascended the stairs onto the observation deck. What reason did he have to be concerned, after all?

He made a motion in the direction of the cockpit to cut the engines, then spoke into his comm receiver. _"Ka'wren, buddy, don't chicken out just yet."_

Meetra continued powering up the shuttle. _Six. Five. Four._

The Mandalorian finally took notice of the cockpit and its curious lack of a familiar pilot. He retreated back into the corridor. _"They're taking the shuttle! They're taking the—!"_

Zand clicked off the comm. "Boring conversation, anyway." He turned to Meetra. "Want me to take him down?" he asked, his hands on the turret controls.

"Doesn't matter," Meetra happily replied. "We're gone."

She pulled up on the yoke and the Skyhauler shot up into the sky above the sandcrawler. Pushing forward, the shuttle began to lay down the kilometers between the companions and their attackers. She finally allowed herself to breathe easy as the sand dunes below rippled by.

"Mos Eisley sound like a good destination?" Meetra asked.

Zand relaxed in his seat and laughed weakly. "I guess." Meetra saw the humor in asking someone who'd just survived a massacre if he wanted to go to Mos Eisley. Trading hell for hell was a more common occurrence on Tatooine than either of them were comfortable with. "Why don't we land, sell the shuttle to those Toydarian junk dealers, get ourselves transport to Ruusan, and buy the smallest house in Olmondo?"

He was falling asleep. "New planet, lots of water, lots of trees. We can run security for the Mining Guild for a bit of spending money." He leaned his seat back. "Sounds about right."

Meetra's mouth formed a grin before she knew what she was doing. Her fingers drummed along the yoke. "Let's do it."

Zand opened an eye. "Huh?"

"Let's do it! Let's go to Ruusan."

"I was joking. I—"

"I wasn't. Why not go?"

Zand leveled a bewildered stare at her and popped his seat back level. "You're serious?"

Meetra paused for a moment to consider it. _Am I serious?_ Zand had been very correct back on the 'crawler; she'd come to Tatooine because there was nowhere else she could go. Frightened and alone on Nar Shaddaa, no living friends or family—the war had seen to that—and the only thing available to get her away from the Smuggler's Moon was a freighter that offered passage to Tatooine in exchange for custodial work.

Choice led her to Nar Shaddaa. The lack of choice saw her stranded in the desert. The promise of Ruusan seemed to return that freedom of choice back to her, and having Zand at her side meant she wouldn't be alone anymore.

She considered it all. It didn't take very long.

"I got nowhere else I need to be," she said.

Zand seemed to be feeling the same brand of excitement. He grinned and nodded the more he thought about it. "All right," he said, reaching out toward her. "Ruusan it is."

Meetra took his hand in hers, holding it longer than she'd intended. The Dune Sea streaked by the viewport, waving hypnotically, its bland consistency broken up only once as they passed over Beggar's Canyon. She looked into Zand's eyes, taking in the future that they had set before themselves, lost in it. For that moment, her life as Meetra Surik the once-Jedi took a back seat, and it was wonderful.

But it was because of this, she noticed the remote access indicator far too late. The little green light flashed silently off in the top right corner of the console, the yoke was already turning itself, aiming the shuttle back in the direction of the sandcrawler.

"No, no, no!" Meetra used nothing but brute strength to tear open the access panel of the console. She waded through a tangle of wires, frantically looking for the remote access box somewhere in the thick of it. Nothing stood out. Either the owners of the shuttle had hidden it, or she was misremembering what the thing looked like. If she could just find it and disconnect it, they'd have control again.

"What can I do, Val?" Zand asked, his breathing picking up again. Meetra couldn't bear to hear him afraid again; this was all her fault, she should've checked for it as soon as they were airborne. "Valystra, talk to me! What can I do?"

The nose of the shuttle suddenly dipped down, throwing Meetra hard against the side of the console. She saw stars dance in front of her. Zand fought the yoke with all his strength. Sweat dripped off his temples and muscles throughout his arm tensed. For all his effort, the yoke hardly budged half a centimeter.

"I can't get it!" Zand screamed, pushing his feet against the console to give himself some leverage. "I'm so sorry, Val! I'm so damn sorry!"

The nose dipped again, sending them both tumbling onto the navigation console. Meetra tasted blood and saw nothing but sand behind the viewport. "It's okay," she said, hoping her friend could hear her. "Everything's going to be okay."

–

Her vision blurred in and out, dimming into darkness when the pain in her head reached a climax. Very little of what she saw made sense. Nothing at all stood out or sparked any kind of reaction in her. She simply watched oblivious inside her own mind as her body somehow continued to hold some connection to the outside world.

In one of the clearer images, she saw wreckage all around her, fire framing it all. She tried to move her hand and somewhere in the flickering light, a bloody digit angled back towards her face. Her vision faded again, and when it came back she was being dragged through the sand, her feet trailing uselessly behind her. Clothing torn to shreds and blood catching the sunlight from where her skin had been exposed.

Once again, she faded out, drifting in the black soup of her mind until she was reeled back into her body by way of the pain that racked it. She opened her eyes and saw stars hovering out there beyond a hatch, casting a blue light upon the Dune Sea. In her dazed state, it really did look like an ocean.

A hand gripped her by the chin and angled her gaze upwards, into the eyes of her captor. It was the same man from the sandcrawler: the Mandalorian who, upon closer inspection, had been cyborged in more ways than just his eye. The hand that held Meetra's face was cold and metallic, clicking and whining with mechanical servos. He grinned; a few of his teeth were missing.

"Well isn't this a sight?" the Mandalorian said, his voice gruff. "You know, I told my boys and girls there was something fishy about this job. That we'd likely hollow that 'crawler out, and you'd be the last one we'd find. I seem to have a talent for being right."

His cyborged arm released Meetra's chin. "Most times," he added with a short chuckle. "Get her up."

Meetra was yanked up by her arms, her blaster wound complaining the entire way. She took a look around the hold and found she was in another Skyhauler—but more noticeably, surrounded by men and women wearing Mandalorian armor.

This was just not her day.

The cyborged Mandalorian took a closer look at Meetra. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"What do you want with me?" Meetra murmured, changing the subject.

He looked her over a bit more, then shook his head. "That's an easy one right there," he said. "There's a bounty on your head, Miss Koryan. They said alive was fine, but our benefactor was pretty clear that he'd rather see you dead. Or dead enough, I guess."

He groaned. "Bah! Why'd you have to kill old Ka'wren? What'd he do to you?"

Meetra didn't answer. She smiled a bit, though, drawing a one-eyed sneer out of the Mandalorian.

"Dead," he repeated. "Thought maybe your acquaintance here would be worth something to the man upstairs, but he didn't want anything to do with him."

_Zand..._

"What did you do to him!" Meetra spat, her energy returning. "What did you do!"

"Well, that's the thing. Nothing yet."

One of the other soldiers dragged Zand over from the other side of the hold. He was bleeding from his nose and there were terrible burns across his hands, but he seemed alert. He grinned when his eyes opened enough to see Meetra staring back at him.

"Good," Zand breathed. "That's good."

"Zand..." said Meetra.

The Mandalorian pointed to the soldier again. "Kill him, would you?"

The soldier took aim and cocked a charge into the chamber of his rifle.

"No!" Meetra threw all of her weight at the soldier restraining her. She managed to get her arms free just long enough to grab the weapon she had holstered beneath her tunic. Her hand produced a small hilt, and from it ignited a blade of purple light. The soldiers in the hold jumped back and took aim.

"Let him go!" she demanded, waving the lightsaber with a flourish. The soldier nearest Zand backed away.

"Wait," the Mandalorian leader said, confusing his fellow bounty hunters. He began to look over Meetra again, but this time he found what he'd been looking for. "I knew it was you. By the stars, I _knew_ it!"

He stepped forward. Meetra waved the lightsaber around again, but the man's eye didn't even flutter. "I remember you at Dxun, at Manaan, at Arkanis—at Malachor." He tapped his mechanical eye. "Perhaps you don't remember me. My name is Cassus Fett."

Meetra's blade lowered a bit. She had never been able to put a name to the face of Revan's nemesis during the Mandalorian Wars. She wished she had gone a lifetime without having to. "Damn."

"I thought you'd remember," he said. "Giving us the slip at Yavin cost me my trigger finger, and your little stunt at Manaan cost me the rest of the hand—both of which Mandalore took himself."

Meetra was aware of capital punishment among Mandalorians. They didn't believe in the death penalty for failure; for compromising the honor of the Clans, convicts were crippled instead, which was widely seen as a fate worse than death. It had been a common thing during the wars to find severed trigger fingers littering the command posts of lost battlefields.

She could see in the Mandalorian strategist's eye that his anger hadn't dissipated over the years.

"You kept me from glory!" Cassus roared, his bloodlust overflowing in the form of a frightening laugh. "Honor to Mandalore the Ultimate! I might finally see one of his enemies vanquished!"

Meetra held out the blade of her saber to keep the man from advancing. But then, to her horror, the blade began to flicker and crackle, and the hilt spat sparks that burned her hand. Her homemade lightsaber shorted out, the makeshift focusing lens pouring onto the floor in the form of melted glass.

"Ha!" Cassus charged, bringing a heavy gauntlet down on Meetra's cheek, sending her to the ground. "Surely this is not the same Meetra Surik that stole my victory at Dxun, who charged a group of Basilisks without fear." He brought his boot up into her solar plexus, driving the air from her lungs. "Not the Jedi I remember. A group of my finest warriors were never a challenge for you. How many did I lose to you then? And only one today? No, no, no. Not the same Jedi."

He grinned at her as she laid gasping for breath on the floor, then drew his pistol. "The Jedi I remember would be able to save her friend from a scoundrel like me." He took aim.

From the floor, Meetra could see Zand, the Korun still smiling in his own way. His lips mouthed a word that she never thought she'd hear from a friend ever again.

_Meetra_.

The bolt caught him in the temple.

–

_"I don't know, I'm just not used to it, I guess."_

_ "Used to what?"_

_ "It's always cold. I feel like I'm gonna get frostbite or pneumonia or something. And all the trees... I get a little sick when I see 'em. Feels like they're closing in on me."_

_ "Closing in on you?"_

_ "Yeah... Don't laugh."_

_ "I'm not."_

_ "Yes, you are—Stop it already! This is the last time I bare my soul to you. Ever."_

_ "Not laughing."_

_ "You just said that. And is it cold in here, too? Why are all the windows open!"_

_ "It's a nice day! Cut me a break!"_

_ "...Hey, what's that?"_

_ "What?"_

_ "There. Just there."_

_ "What are you talking about? Would you stop pointing at me like that?"_

_ "Hey, would you do me a favor? If you do this, I'll forgive you for leaving the blasted windows open."_

_ "Okay. What's the favor?"_

_ "You're smiling right now, which is a rare and beautiful thing to see these days. Do me a favor, Meetra Surik, and don't forget how you pulled that off. Okay?"_

_ "Okay, Zand."_

_ "Good, I'm holding you to that. And don't worry, kiddo. Everything's gonna be fine now."_

–

Meetra could see the light of a holorecorder shining on her. She could feel the chilled desert winds enveloping her body from the direction of the open hatch. She could hear Cassus Fett talking into the recorder, pride marking every second of it.

"As you can see, the mark is still very much alive," he said. "We've made visual confirmation that this is, indeed, Valystra Koryan. Though I'm sure you knew all along that she was keeping her real identity a secret, but no matter. This is what you paid for, and I do hope this will be enough."

Meetra looked over he shoulder and spotted the starlit waves of the Dune Sea below. The Skyhauler was hovering now, and she was fairly certain of what would come next.

"The Jedi, Meetra Surik, will be taking a one-way trip to the Dune Sea below. I have my doubts that the fall will kill her, but what I take as certainty is that the desert will kill her tomorrow. There isn't a city or outpost for many, many kilometers, and not a drop of water to be found. If she does survive the fall, she will die thirsty, tired, and _alone_."

Cassus shoved the holorecorder in Meetra's face. "Please transfer the credits to the appropriate accounts. Our business is concluded."

His kick sent her tripping off the ramp and into the open air. The holorecorder caught every moment of it.

She tumbled down through the darkness, seeing stars streak into desert and then back again. The rushing air tore at her clothes and pressed her hair across her face. Halfway to hitting the ground, she vacantly noticed she had forgotten something, and cursed into the wind; as she fell back to earth, she noticed she had forgotten to smile.


	10. Once More

_"That is the question that I am asking you this night. Will you let these pleas fall on deaf ears? Will the Keepers of the Peace watch the galaxy burn? Will you join Malak and I as we take back the destiny of our civilization?" He gave the Knights a moment before saying, "You are not the first group of Jedi to meet with me. And you will not be the first to join our cause."_

_When Revan was satisfied that enough thought had been given to the subject, he spoke again. "You do not have to say it out loud. If you would join us, if you would take back the galaxy..." He shrugged. "All you have to do is step forward."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Seven - Once More

* * *

><p>The Temple landing bay was packed with Jedi starfighters of various makes and models, and Revan was able to recall the names of each as he walked the path to visitors' docking. During the wars, it behooved him to ensure that he was familiar with all of the weaponry and vehicles at his disposal, their weaknesses, strengths and overall utility.<p>

Knowing the TKR3 had an archaic oxy-thruster allowed him to sneak a messenger through the thick of a Mandalorian blockade to deliver tactical information back to his fleet. After a particularly nasty skirmish over Fhost, he was able to modify a squadron of T-32 personnel transport shuttles into fighters; removing their long range engines and outfitting them with salvaged turrets allowed them to put up a fight when there wouldn't have been one otherwise.

Now it all seemed like a wealth of useless knowledge, like an encyclopedia dedicated to combustion power. Revan thought he might be able to turn it into a parlor trick down the line; sit back in a backwater cantina and wait for someone to wager he had no idea how to rewire the navicomp of a Corellian HLAF-250. Good money to be won that way.

No, that would definitely happen.

Revan met a security checkpoint at the entrance to visitors' docking. The ranking guard picked up a comlink and said something to someone on the other end. She nodded and gestured to the guards blocking Revan's path. They allowed him to pass without a word.

Past a few speeders belonging to Senate delegates, an automated air taxi and scattered attendants, Revan found his ship docked on an exposed landing pad overlooking the sheer drop off the side of the Temple: a drop down into overlapped and crowded skylanes that would eventually meet with the ground level after a few minutes of falling.

Sparks flew from the hull of the _Ebon Hawk_ as a small squad of astromech droids rolled along its surface, T3-M4 among them. Welders plugged up holes that had been opened weeks ago, wiring was laced through exposed conduits and down into the bulkhead. The turbolaser turrets had already been replaced with another two that looked straight out of the factory. They had even replaced the transparisteel of the cockpit.

In a matter of hours, the Temple repair droids had almost completely undone all of the wounds the ship had suffered in the months since he and his friends had "liberated" the freighter from the Exchange kingpin Davik Kang—back when Taris still stood.

Revan had to smile. The old girl looked even better now than she had back on Taris.

"Thing of beauty, right?" Carth emerged from the _Hawk_'s loading ramp, an oil rag in his hands. "Before I even knew what they were doing, they had already recalibrated the sublight drive. Remember how it kept listing to the left when we got to Kashyyyk?"

"I really do," Revan lamented. Navigating the oversized wroshyr trees to find the Czerka landing pad had been unusually stressful at the time. There had been a thin brown line across the left side of the ship, where he and Carth had accidentally introduced the _Hawk_ to one of the trees. He was almost sad to see their mark of shame had been buffed off.

"All better?" he asked.

Carth nodded. "All better," he replied. "We're still talking about a _Dynamic_-class, but she's as good as she's ever gonna get."

"Honestly can't imagine piloting anything else."

"Unfortunately, I know what you mean."

Revan turned his attention away from the ship. "Heard from Dustil?" he asked Carth. When he saw nervousness creep into his friend, he regretted asking.

"Still being debriefed, as far as I know. Standard procedure."

"Of course."

"Spent a while in a Sith Academy, after all. I can imagine they have a lot of questions lined up for him."

"Standard procedure," Revan echoed, trying to put him at ease.

"Yep." Carth bit his lip, quietly adding, "Standard procedure."

Revan gripped him by the shoulder. "He's going to be fine. You're worrying again."

"Can't help it. But I probably should, I guess." Carth scratched the back of his neck. "How, ah... How are you feeling?"

Revan knew he was referring to his little episode in the High Council Chamber. He still hadn't figured out a way to apologize for that. How could he? "Are you okay?"

"Don't even start," Carth said, waving away the impending apology. "I'm fine, everyone's fine. Don't start."

"I'm not even sure what happened," Revan sighed. "I can barely even remember what happened."

"I saw they way they were treating you, Revan. Giving you the run around. I would've been angry, too." Carth shrugged. "Angry in different ways."

Revan snickered at Carth's attempt at lightening the mood. "Bastila's still with the Council, then," he said. Their sympathetic Force bond made it easy for him to pick out where she was, even if she happened to be worlds away. Presently, he could feel the tether tug at him from somewhere high above their heads, right around where the apex of the High Council Spire would be.

"They asked us to leave so that they could speak to her in private," Carth said. "As you can imagine, she wasn't too keen on that."

"I can imagine." Revan smiled at the image of Bastila giving the Jedi Council her trademark glare. Being on the wrong end of a blaster was one thing...

"One of the droids said we'd be ready to get airborne in a few hours," said Carth, nodding to the _Ebon Hawk_. "You planning on leaving that soon?"

The question took Revan back. "What was that?"

"I said we'll be ready to go in a few hours," Carth repeated. "You want to leave as soon as they're finished?"

Revan feigned confusion. He knew where this was leading, and he didn't much care for it. "Leaving? Who said anything about leaving?"

"You didn't have to say anything." Carth pointed somewhere over his shoulder. "Canderous is off stocking up on ammunition. Mission and Zalbaar are off getting more supplies—don't care to ask how, since I didn't give them the money to buy anything. And Jolee is already sleeping in his bunk."

Jolee had developed a strange habit of falling asleep before a jump into hyperspace. The old Jedi had claimed it was so he'd be well rested by the time they arrived at their destination, alert and ready for a fight. Mission's blunt (and widely-accepted) hypothesis was that his sleeping spells were actually "old man naps."

_"You know,"_ she had explained. _"Old man naps keep the crankies away. Everyone knows that."_

What this particular "old man nap" meant to Revan was that Jolee had already signed up for the long haul. Everyone had, from the sound of it.

"I hadn't planned on company," Revan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, I don't think you have much say in this one."

"This trip doesn't concern you, Carth. It doesn't concern anyone but me. You all have lives to get back to." He eyed Carth. "Family."

Carth flinched, but said nothing.

"Our time as a crew was... memorable. But our job's done. The Star Forge is gone. Malak is gone." Revan shrugged, hoping the notion was finding purchase in Carth's mind. "We're done. You can relax now, Onasi."

Carth fell into thought. His eyes narrowed, casting an impatient stare that was typically reserved for Mission. He looked back to the _Hawk_, back to Revan. He seemed to be wrestling with the idea of staying behind, which Revan took as a good sign.

Revan didn't need anyone following him this time. In all likelihood, he wouldn't be back anytime soon. Not until he found Meetra.

"Tell you what," Carth finally said, his voice all military, "I'll talk things over with the crew. I'll explain the whole situation in detail and even make it sound more unappealing than it actually is. If they're still all for going, you have to agree to let them."

Revan nodded hesitantly. "Okay."

"I know you think you have to walk this lonesome road by yourself, but that's just not how friends operate. We're not stepping off unless you kick us off."

Revan the stirring of pride in his chest. It was true that timing and circumstance had brought the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ together, but it was something else entirely that kept them that way. He wanted nothing more than to see his friends remain behind, pick up their lives where they had left off. A return to normality is what he had wished upon them from the moment the Star Forge fell into the sun of Lehon.

But for the life of him, he couldn't bear the thought of going on without them.

Revan held out his hand. "Deal."

Carth shook it, smiling. "Damn right."

–

Revan walked the _Hawk_'s main corridor to the starboard crew quarters, stepping out of the way of a few astromechs that were still finding little ways to optimize the ship. One of the droids cut him off and pried open a utility panel with one of its tools. A tiny claw reached out and bridged a connection that caused a new light to flicker on overhead. Revan hadn't even noticed one of the lights was out.

The little droid trilled satisfaction and scooted on its way down the loading ramp. Revan watched it go. He was suddenly very excited about taking the new-and-improved _Ebon Hawk_ out for a spin.

He was near the engine room when he heard the snoring, which was somehow able to drown out both the hum of the hyperdrive and the clatter of the droid repairing it. He rounded the corner and found Jolee Bindo lying in his bunk, sleeping soundly with his mouth wide open. His arm hung over the edge, his hand just barely gripping the hilt of his lightsaber.

It had become common for the crew to relocate to the port crew quarters whenever Jolee decided to take one of his naps. His snores seemed to rattle the walls. It was even loud enough to annoy HK.

_"Lamentation: Though I retain a built-in function to shut down my auditory sensors... it's just not enough. Not enough. Please allow me to silence him, Master. A knife can act as a very effective mute button."_

Revan tugged the lightsaber out of the old Jedi's hand before attempting to wake him—since he was just asking for trouble if he didn't. He nudged Jolee's shoulder, gently at first. "Jolee." No response. A little harder this time. "Hey, Jolee. Wake up."

The old man uttered a loud snort and turned over on his side.

"Jolee!" Revan was practically shaking him now. "Jolee Bindo, the mynocks are attacking! Battle stations!"

"GAH!" Jolee snapped awake and clumsily rolled onto his feet. He spent the next few seconds swinging at invisible mynocks with a lightsaber that wasn't there. He took a deep breath and looked around. His panic melted into anger when he saw Revan.

"Don't you know it's bad luck to wake an old man!" Jolee roughly straightened his tunic. "I oughta put a hex on you right now. Strike you blind. Or just stab you with my..." He looked down at his empty hand. "Where the kriff is my lightsaber! It's those _droids_! They were practically trying to take my bed while I slept on it. If I get my hands on TeeThree, I'm gonna—"

"Jolee..."

"Spare parts!"

"Jolee..." Revan waved the old man's lightsaber in the open. "I've been waving this around in front of you, like, the entire time."

"Oh." Jolee reclaimed his weapon and clipped it on his belt, sneering all the while. "There just cause for your heretical acts against your elder-slash-superior?"

"Just wanted to ask you a question," Revan said. "Sorry, by the way. Didn't want to wake you, but this couldn't wait three days."

"Ha!" Jolee barked, his scowl hanging in permanence. "You should be talking faster now that I got my saber back."

"Sorry again. I really do have a question."

Jolee threw his arms up. "Well!"

"Were you planning on following me somewhere?"

"I'm not technically following you, boy. We're on the same ship, I don't really have a choice."

"You do have a choice," Revan countered. He watched all of the mirth in the room drain away in a hurry. "Where did you think I was going?"

Jolee frowned, thinking up some kind of answer. "Does it matter?" he finally said. "You set a course and we all float along behind you. Average day."

Revan sighed. "You know, Carth gave me a similar response. You don't have to follow me anywhere. I could be leading you into a black hole for all you know!"

"Which one? The Maw? Might as well try and set the record on the Kessel Run while we're there. The people who set those records usually aren't trying to fly _into_ it, so I think we'll have a slight advantage there."

Revan tried to get Jolee back on topic. "Look, I'm sorry for earlier, but I'm trying to be serious now."

Jolee threw his hands up, as if to surrender. "Oooo! I'd better take a few steps back, then. Revan's getting serious here!" One of the droids rolled by the door, let out a confused chirp, and continued on down the hall. Jolee relaxed, smiled. "We've all seen how Revan gets when he's serious. Conquers planets and gives Jedi Masters a headache."

Revan's eyes went wide, and he gasped despite himself. Part of him wanted to lash out in response: the part he'd fought with in the High Council Chamber. His eyes flickered as he fought to suppress it. "Jolee, I..."

"I know, I saw it," said Jolee, his brow furrowed. "Your memories are coming back then."

Revan nodded.

"How much?"

"Seems like most of them," Revan laughed nervously. "The mention of Meetra's name set off an avalanche in my head. Hasn't stopped yet."

Concern marked Jolee's expression. He reached out and felt Revan's forehead like he was checking for a fever. He hissed, his hand recoiled. "Well," he exhaled. "Certainly is a lot going on up there."

"Tell me about it."

Jolee pointed upwards. "And you were thinking of going up there all by yourself?"

Revan shot his friend a sidelong glance. "I think you've just seen what might happen if I bring people along. People I care about being the number one concern." He shuddered at the thought. "Not to mention I'm not even sure where I'm going after Nar Shaddaa. Could be a dead end, could keep me in the black for a while. I could very well end up in the Maw for all I know."

"I'd like to think you'd hesitate before throwing yourself into the Maw," Jolee said.

"Forget the Maw. I just..." Revan squinted, trying to focus in on his future. It had never seemed so distorted before. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Jolee came around and slapped Revan on the back. "I hate to say this, kid, but Darth Revan racked up a bill that you're going to be paying off for a while—one way or another." He pointed at him. "Now, finding your old friend, that's what we in the Jedi business call a 'worthy cause.' I can see it in your eyes, this is important to you." He poked Revan on the chest. "_You_. Not some Lord of the Sith; the man I see standing right here in front of me. The one I've traveled with since Kashyyyk. And if finding your friend is important to you, then it's important to me."

Revan could feel the tears coming on. What could he have done to deserve such friendship?

"I'm not sure you understand what you're getting yourself into here," Revan murmured. "I can't ask you to follow me down this path."

"Well, such is friendship—and I'm sure any one of the others will tell you the same thing... Maybe not the assassin droid or the Mandalorian, but they mean well, regardless." Jolee smiled. "And like I said, we're not _technically_ following you.

"Lead the way, and we all float along behind you."

Revan grinned; Jolee had definitely made his point. He left it at that, departing the crew quarters so that Jolee could resume his nap. The others would be returning soon, at which point Carth would hold up his end of the deal. He would ask them if they really wanted to follow Revan into the unknown, the dangerous beyond that his memories were laying out before them.

He had a good idea of what they would say.


	11. II: Shadow Games

II: Shadow Games

* * *

><p><strong>[3,961 BBY - Five Years Ago]<strong>

**[Operation Riptide: + 23m 11s]**

Meetra led a squad of riflemen through the winding hallways of the Ahto City capitol building, the sounds of the Mandalorian armed forces sprouting up from every opened doorway. The squad was outfitted with special stealth suits that would do nothing to block a stray blaster bolt, but ensured they could make their way through the tight-knit complex without the clanking of heavy armor giving them away immediately.

Surprise was key; they needed to get to the spectators' balcony just above one of the courtrooms, where intelligence had pegged the Mandalorians' command center in the city to be located. Since their fleet would be busy with Republic forces in orbit, wiping out their main command center would shatter any hopes of an organized retaliation on their part.

It wouldn't make their warriors on the ground any less formidable, but it would tilt the scale in the Republic army's favor just enough to perhaps secure a victory.

Perhaps. It was a well-taught lesson in the Jedi Order: Hardly anything goes according to plan.

_Plan for the worst; expect the worst._

Meetra got her first taste of this when a group of Mandalorian soldiers came sprinting around the corner from an adjoining hallway. The group hadn't expected a fight, which was the only thing that saved the squad's lives.

From her left, one of the riflemen came up with a vibroblade, swinging it up through the exposed slit in the lead warrior's armor just below the chin. The others in the squad followed suit, throwing themselves at the group of Crusaders to save on the blasterfire that would surely give away their position.

Another one of the riflemen favored his stun baton, dodging a warrior's line of fire until he was able bring the baton around and against his enemy's chest. The Mandalorian recoiled just long enough for the rifleman to score another hit, and another.

Meetra dealt with the last two, calling on the Force to whip the Crusaders' rifles up into their faceplates, denting their helmets and knocking them out cold. A rifleman moved in to finish the job.

"Hold," Meetra ordered. "They're down. Let's move on."

"They'll just wake up and alert the nearest patrol," he said, aiming his vibroblade at the unconscious bodies. "It's too much of a risk."

"I'll decide that," she snapped. "Stand down, soldier."

The rifleman reluctantly sheathed his blade.

"The Mandalorians don't kill our wounded," she reminded him. "What does that tell you?"

Eyes on the floor, the rifleman fell back in line.

Meetra took a quick look around, ensuring they wouldn't be getting more visitors. "Revan, Malak, and the rest of the army are out there right now, fighting to bring down the defenses. Our job is to take out their command center. That's what I need you all to focus on. Not revenge, not the kill—the _mission_. Understood?"

The squad quietly nodded.

"Good." Meetra gripped the soldier she'd reprimanded by the shoulder. "We're on our own out here. The mission is all that guides us," she said. "It's all that matters."


	12. A Light in the Desert

_"STOP!" Valystra crumbled to the ground. Her hand ignited her lightsaber, but she could barely hold it. The soldiers surrounding her took aim, focusing their crosshairs on the woman's skull, but she didn't get up from the floor. She sat there, helpless, crying warm tears at the feet of the High Council._

_The lightsaber dropped to the ground with a metallic clank and hissed back docile._

_"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she whimpered, bracing her hands on the cold floor and looking down into it like a mirror. "I can see their faces…" She laughed lightly and took in a stuttered breath. "I can finally see their faces…"_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Eight - A Light in the Desert

* * *

><p>"<em>It's all that matters..."<em>

Meetra stared upwards into memories that rippled like water, and ebbed into the darkness of her mind where she had long kept things she wished everyday were forgotten.

In one moment, she stood on the open plains of Dantooine, the sun just barely peeking out from behind the horizon. She didn't know if it was rising or setting. A cool breeze passed through the fields, bringing a sound like the ocean to her ears.

There were voices on the wind. They were familiar just as much as they were distant on the canvas of memory. Echoes of people she used to know and love. Blurred figures where friends or teachers might have stood. She looked down at her hands and they seemed so small. She spoke, but her voice belonged to a young girl.

She tugged on the learner's braid that fell from her hair. There were so many chances to change so many things. So many roads to follow, and she had chosen the one that led to her destruction. She guided the feet of the girl she used to be away from the horizon, away from all that would've led her astray.

But she knew, as tears rolled down her cheeks, there was nothing left to put back. The road had crumbled behind her. She enjoyed the memory while she could.

–

Her first conscious breath was a sharp one, pained and ragged as dust filled her lungs. Her eyes were shut, but she could still see bright sunlight piercing her eyelids. She tried to move, nothing did. Pain returned her call.

Meetra began to remember all that had transpired the night before, and decided that if she was still alive... she shouldn't be. Opening her eyes was the first thing she managed to do, but even that didn't come easy. Her eyelids had crusted over and sand collected on her lashes, and once she had her eyes open it all poured in. The shock of it was enough to tense up her arms.

Feeling returned to her body in waves, some broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder making their presence known. She screamed in response, but her dried-out throat wouldn't allow it; she winced and cried, but no tears ran. She felt desiccated, undead.

Her vision sharpened until she was able to see the outline of the Dune Sea, the light blue sky filling in the space between. There was little else in the way of definition anywhere. A few sun-bleached bones of a dewback poked out from the sands, and a dead tree with wild limbs stood close by: the only bit of shade she could see for miles.

Biting down on the clumps of mud on her teeth, she rolled over onto her side. Her broken ribs sent a pain like fire through her chest. The twin suns dimmed.

–

In another moment, Meetra sat in her old dorm room at the Dantooine Enclave. She was holding her lightsaber out in front of her, realizing its renewed purpose. Only a few hours before, she stood before the Jedi Academy as a Padawan learner, her lightsaber nothing more than the fruits of her labor. The reward of her one great success.

But once Master Sunrider had severed her learner's braid, her reward became a weapon. No more a status symbol or a mere accessory; this saber represented all that would come to define her life as a Jedi. It sat in her hands, at once interconnected across space and time, igniting in the presence of her enemies throughout.

The potential had been startling. Her dreams were rapid. What adventures would she have as a Knight of the Jedi Order?

She never could have known...

–

Meetra awoke again, her face half-buried in sand. Looking up, she saw that she had rolled all the way down to the base of a dune. She was almost grateful she had slept through that particular tumble.

She found the suns and guessed that it was nearing noon, which meant she had been lying in the sand, baking, for the better part of the day. The burn across her exposed skin told her as much. It was difficult to make any expression beyond ambivalence, since frowning or tensing up just lumped on more pain in addition to what she was already dealing with.

Hoping for a better result than the last time, she rolled over onto her back and tried to set herself upright. Her ribs and aching joints complained, and the sunburn on her face flared up as her expression tensed. She groaned and was finally able to hear her voice again. She tried to work some moisture back into her mouth, but it was slow going. She smacked her lips uselessly like a dying fish.

It took a few minutes more before she was able to get onto her feet, her legs wobbling uncontrollably while she tried to gain her balance. Her first few steps almost ended in disaster. The sand was soft and gave easily, which nearly sent her over onto her chest a few times. If she blacked out again, she wasn't sure if she'd ever wake up. And living out the memories of her youth, the war, and Zand's death in purgatory didn't sound appealing in the least.

Her will and energy began to stockpile themselves, and her body eventually tried to keep up. She was moving at an uneven pace through the trough of the surrounding dunes, cutting a staggered path toward the dead tree. Shade was the only thing she wanted now. Even a sliver would be enough.

Near the tree, Meetra saw something poking out of the sand, shining bright. She hobbled up to it and pulled her makeshift lightsaber from the dune's grip. It was warm to the touch, entirely dead in her hands. She was ashamed to even look at it now. In a night of desperation, she had constructed the lightsaber using parts she'd found lying around mechanic discard piles.

In all, she had accomplished nothing. She'd made a lightsaber in name only that emitted a beam of plasma that might have—_might_ have—given her Mandalorian aggressors a slight burn. The sunburns she had now were probably worse than what her makeshift saber would've dished out.

The construction of her first lightsaber back on Dantooine had been a sacred event to her: the culmination of all the lessons, the training, the hardships. The hunk of metal she presently held dishonored that memory, but perhaps it still had some use.

She tore a strip of cloth from her tunic using her good arm. Delicately, she strapped the dead lightsaber across her palm, using her good arm to keep it elevated so that the added weight wouldn't tug at her dislocated shoulder. At a place on the tree where the trunk split in a few directions, she wedged the lightsaber length-wise across two stumps. She tugged at it a little to ensure the hilt wouldn't come dislodged from the tree, nor would her free-floating arm from the hilt.

The strap didn't loosen, so she did it before she could talk herself out of it. She whipped herself around, putting her full weight on the arm. With a gruesome _pop_, her shoulder snapped back into place. She screamed, loudly, trying to keep herself from passing out. Her vision doubled, blurred, faded. Though sheer force of will, she kept herself on her feet, awake.

Meetra dislodged the lightsaber, loosened the strip of cloth that bound it to her hand, and let the dead weapon fall back into the sand. She took in her surroundings to keep her mind off her shoulder, noticing little else this time. Heat rippled off the Dune Sea, obscuring her vision beyond a kilometer or two. Just more sand.

She tried to think back to her time on Cassus Fett's Skyhauler, what she had seen as they flew over the desert. It took some effort to keep her mind from drifting to Zand, to just how desperate her current situation actually was. No water, and none to be found. No food either, unless she happened upon a sickly bantha that wouldn't put up a fight.

_I'm not gonna make it out of this desert._

She thought harder, moving herself into the shade of the tree. Of course it had been dark as they flew, so she had seen less than she did now. She couldn't even remember how long they'd been flying, which would've been something.

Nervousness began to build. Meetra dug the toe of her boot into the sand. She decided that she would just have to pick a direction, which, with all due certitude, would be the last decision she ever made. Settlements on Tatooine were scattered, cities were absolutely infrequent, and even running into the Tuskans would be unlikely, thanks to Czerka's arrangement.

A rough breeze tore across the top of the dune. She looked upwind, and saw that her decision had already been made. Baring down on her through the curtain of mirages, a massive sandstorm. She couldn't hear it yet, but it wouldn't take very long to reach her.

Taking short breaths to keep pressure off her ribs, Meetra headed off into the west, away from the sandstorm. She kept her mind blank, focusing only on her feet and the top of the next dune. She didn't dare let in that nagging voice that said to her in a delightfully wicked tone, _"You're not going to make it."_

–

The sandstorm grew as it fed on the desert, stretching upwards to blot out the suns. As she crested another dune, Meetra took a chance and looked back over her shoulder. She could barely make out the dead tree, though it was slowly becoming obscured by a thin veil of dust. She hadn't made as much progress as she would've liked.

The sky darkened as the twin suns disappeared behind the approaching storm. The air cooled noticeably. The wind at her back threw her hair around into her eyes. She knew she didn't have much time left.

A Tatooine sandstorm was enough to shut down cities, ground air traffic, and send entire Tuskan camps back into their mountain shelters. Winds often kicked up sand fast enough to rend clothing and flesh, blind unprotected eyes, and suffocate anyone in the thick of it. There were even rumors that the pressure drops were at times so drastic that some would emerge from a storm deafened.

Rumors, but this was Tatooine. On this planet, even if something sounded too horrible to be true, it was probably being downplayed.

Lightning struck through the wall of sand, veins of light against the roaring darkness. Thunder rumbled across the desert and inspired Meetra to pick up her pace until her chest burned. She looked back to where she had hit the ground last night. The tree was gone into the storm.

_"You're not going to make it."_

The air around her began to grow hazy and taste of dust. "No." There was nowhere for her to go...

She reached the top of the next dune and nearly stepped off of a cliff. Screaming against the pain, she fought to balance herself but ended up falling flat on her back. The storm moved across the sky above her head. She had only seconds now.

When she finally managed to stand herself back up, she noticed the corpse of a massive krayt dragon, nearly stripped down to its bones—and behind it: a cave.

Meetra ran, following the edge of the cliff until it met flat ground. She lined herself up with the cave just as the storm tore through the small valley. The flurried sand across her sunburns was excruciating, and some of it got in her eyes before she found her goggles in her pocket.

She followed the dragon's tail inside the cave, knowing full well there might actually be a live one inside, but there was nothing for it. As the storm settled in outside, she found herself in pitch darkness, the winds creating an ominous howl throughout the cave.

After a few more paces, her boots came down on something with a loud crunch. If this had been the krayt dragon's cave, she knew what she was stepping on. Bones, and lots of them. She held her ground to avoid stepping on more, and eased herself down onto her back. If there was some creature still hanging around, then she had just made herself an easier target, but she had to get off her feet.

In any case, she had nowhere else to go and no way to defend herself. Her options were decidedly limited.

But nothing seemed to be stirring, at least nothing that she could take note of through the darkness of the cave and howling of the storm... Then again, she admitted, conditions weren't very ideal for noticing much of anything regardless.

Meetra lay back on a bed of bones and nervously waited out the storm, all the while trying to keep her mind as blank as possible. After a brief rest, she could scout the cave. Bodies meant discarded items, possibly even a canteen or two if the seals had been tight enough. It was just a matter of playing the waiting game, which was fine by her if it meant keeping off her feet for a bit.

Suddenly, something did stir somewhere close by. A loud hissing noise. Meetra felt around, trying to find something she could use as a weapon, and eventually settled on a large femur bone. She held it out in front of her, but the longer the hissing continued, the more she began to realize it wasn't an animal; it was mechanical.

Whatever it was made three loud knocks, like it was locking something into place, and then—

"Ah!" Meetra gasped, shielding her eyes from the intense light that shot forth from the center of the cave. Her eyes slowly adjusted, and she lowered her hand to see what was happening.

At the center of the cave, only a few meters away, the light dimmed and coalesced into a scattering of rings, dots, and symbols she didn't recognize. A strange platform beneath the hovering images whined a few times, and the light came sharply into focus.

Meetra stared in wonder, as a field of stars sprang into existence—alight with a dark promise.


	13. Another Happy Landing

_"Look, just hold down the fort for me. I won't be long, but I need to see this planet firsthand if I'm going to lead this army into battle."_

_He started up his swoop bike and let it idle. His friends still looked severely discontent._

_"I'll be back," Revan promised. "I will."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Nine - Another Happy Landing

* * *

><p>The <em>Ebon Hawk<em> emerged from hyperspace on the dark side of Nal Hutta, a lighted web of civilization hanging in the dark where the Smuggler's Moon would be. Mission sat on the navigation console, her face pressed up against the transparisteel as their freighter hurtled toward Nar Shaddaa. She awed aloud, leaning from side to side to find a better view of the moon until a shuttle darted across the bow. She jumped a little.

"Didn't scare me," she mewed.

Carth snorted. "Right. Say that when you're eyes aren't as wide."

"Hey!" Mission snapped, aiming her finger at Carth like a blaster. "Quiet. Old man."

He sighed. "Why do you still call me that? We have Jolee now."

"Yes or no, are you older than me?" Mission cocked an eyebrow. "Yes or no? Come on."

"Who _isn't_ older than you on this ship?"

Mission rolled her eyes. "Hop-Along."

"The gizka?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't count," Carth said, adjusting the _Hawk_'s heading. Nar Shaddaa did a one-eighty outside the viewport. "Revan's older than you. Bastila's older than you. I don't deserve to be singled out."

Revan looked up from the copilot's console waving his hand around. "Don't," he said with as much emphasis as he could manage. "Don't you drag me into this."

"Deal with it. You're in the line of fire," Carth replied, then turned back to Mission. "And _you're_ in my line of sight. Can't see the skylanes past your tails."

Mission scowled and stuck her tongue out at him before she climbed down off the console. "You're my least favorite pilot right now."

"Go tell it to the Wookiee."

"Maybe I will!"

"Yeah, maybe you will."

Mission stomped her foot and left the cockpit. Revan watched her go and said to Carth, "She's gonna tell him, you know."

"Yeah," Carth said. "Yeah, I know."

Bastila entered just then, looking over her shoulder toward the main corridor. "Did you upset her again, Carth?"

"If you haven't noticed, I barely have to try these days."

"She was talking to Zalbaar."

"Yeah." Carth sat back in his seat. "Yeah, I know."

Bastila placed a hand on Revan's shoulder and watched Nar Shaddaa draw closer behind their viewport. "We're landing on _that_?"

Revan took her hand in his. "Shortly."

"I've never seen a place so crowded."

"Taris? Coruscant?" Carth asked.

"Sure. Maybe if you crammed them both onto one moon," she countered. "I can sense no center, no peace. It's all... _chaos_."

Revan chuckled. "And it's not much better on the ground." He kissed her hand. "Prepare to be overwhelmed and unimpressed."

"You've been here before?"

"Once. Briefly." He left it at that; the last time he was here, he had just wrestled Onderon and Dxun from the Mandalorians, and was attempting to set up a large supply route through the moon and back to the system. Onderon needed to be rebuilt, and the Hutts had been his only choice at the time.

Some choice that had been. But he had to admit: getting supplies from Hutt Space had been infinitely easier than dealing with requisitions back in Republic Space. Less bureaucracy, more results. On Nar Shaddaa, you got what you paid for, which was both good and bad.

Bad because most business deals resulted in someone getting shot or thrown from the platforms. And, like on Coruscant, finding the ground after falling from a platform took some patience.

"I'll worry about us getting clearance," Revan said to Carth. He dialed into the HoloNet to find the nearest starport and was immediately confused by the listings that popped up. It wasn't like Republic Space, where only official starports made the listings. Here, it seemed everyone managed to make it onto his screen. "Erm... You just focus on flying."

"Sure, but where am I flying to?"

Revan sifted through the listings; only half seemed reputable, and most of those were probably just good liars. One of the starport listings read, verbatim: _Jhant'nafar's Really Cheap Docking. Docking. Really Cheap. Meet Real Life Jhant'nafar._

"All right, then..." Revan looked around the cockpit. "Anyone have a problem with Jhant'nafar?"

Carth took his hands off the yoke to cast an incredulous stare in Revan's direction. "I'm sorry?"

"My thoughts exactly." Bastila leaned over Revan's shoulder to read his screen. "'Meet Real Life Jhant'nafar'? Are you seriously thinking about setting us down there?"

Revan shrugged. "It's either that or... 'LL-Roy's Guaranteed Not Colaps Starpor,'" he said, rereading the listing a few times. "Looks like he forgot a few letters in there..."

Carth and Bastila went blank for a moment. Carth finally shrugged. "I have no problem with Jhant'nafar."

–

Once the credit balance was deducted from the account tied to the _Ebon Hawk_, a docking pad extended outward from a rickety warehouse overlooking the sharp chasm that separated two of Nar Shaddaa's more active districts. It was a complicated landing, since the the chasm was utterly clogged with inbound/outbound traffic from horizon to horizon.

Carth had to pull a few evasive maneuvers to avoid getting blindsided by _Muirnhoj_-class heavy freighter, which either hadn't noticed the _Hawk_ or hadn't cared. Most of the starships seemed to fly that way, in fact. Ignorance in very large numbers.

Once the _Hawk_ was secured on the dock, Revan and the crew debarked and took their first, deep breaths of the poorly recycled air. Zalbaar instantly growled disapproval.

Mission nudged him on the arm. "What reason've you got to be nervous?" The Wookiee looked around and grunted something. "I didn't say scared, I said _nervous_. Who can pick a fight with you that you can't—_blam!_—step on? We're playin' by Taris Rules again, Big Z."

Canderous shook his head. "Nar Shaddaa doesn't play by any rules, kid." He spat on the landing pad. "Even 'Shoot first, ask questions later' is too much to ask from most of the cretins here."

"Ah." Mission coughed into her fist. "Taris Rules suspended for now, Big Z."

Zalbaar growled loudly.

"Bad feeling noted."

Revan marveled at the towering structures that rose well above their docking pad, the darkness in between writhing with points of light that could've been speeders, could've been starships. The sheer density of the civilization that had taken root on the moon was something he was unaccustomed to. The compacted layers of the Lower City of Taris had come close, but even then, the flavor of Nar Shaddaa was a unique one.

A view of the sky, but no light, no atmosphere, no natural day/night cycles. No indigenous fauna or flora, no history that didn't begin with a business transaction. Nothing to reflect on, nothing to look forward to. The Smuggler's Moon transcended time and space, drifting languidly in the present. Always in the present. Forever.

It had been years since Revan had been to Nar Shaddaa, but it seemed as though it had only been seconds. Nothing had changed, at least not noticeably, and certainly not for the better.

"How are we going to find anything in that?" Carth asked. "Not even sure which way to start walking."

Revan smiled. "Just gotta follow the decline." He nodded to HK-47. "AitchKay, I need you to start scouting the Republic stations. Hack terminals, question people. Just keep dropping the name 'Meetra Surik' and get back to me if anything comes of it."

Revan found it amazing how the assassin droid could pull off a look of depression without any features to him. HK let his rifle hang down at his side. "Resignation: Oh, Master. You must despise me to send me on a mission of such... _benevolence_."

"And by benevolence, you mean—"

"A mission with only the slightest chance that someone will be shot, maimed, or otherwise disintegrated. And an even lesser chance that the shooting, maiming, and disintegrating will be done by me. You hate me."

"I don't hate you."

"Reiteration: You must!"

Revan rapped his knuckles on the droid's chassis. "Tell you what. Why don't you make your way down the Republic's bounty board, as well? You can even stick exclusively to the 'dead or alive' listing."

The assassin droid's red eyes brightened into tidal-locked red dwarfs. Revan had to squint. "Exclamation: A grocery list of people who are in need of killing? Oh, you spoil me, Master!"

"Just make sure you question them about Meetra first," Revan added. "Just in case."

"Explanation: Why, interrogation is one of the three prime directives you programmed into me. You're asking me to fulfill my life's purpose—which is appreciated, Master."

Revan's brow furrowed. "What are the other two directives? I can't remember."

HK stood at attention. "Recitation: The prime directives of this model are as follows: Kill, Interrogation, and Death. In that order, of course."

"Wha... What's the difference between Kill and Death?"

"A head shot." HK saluted Revan and turned away toward the nearest side-street.

"Right..." Revan wasn't so much worried about HK getting caught or captured. The art of stealth was practically the droid's guiding star. He did, however, worry about HK shooting the wrong people, since the two of them often had varied definitions of what constituted "wrong people." He pointed to T3-M4. "TeeThree, keep an eye on him, please."

T3 whistled hearty agreement and began rolling off toward the side-street HK had entered.

"You still have his shutdown codes in your memory banks?" Revan called after the droid. T3 beeped an affirmative. "All right. Good luck, and get back to us on the usual channel if you find anything."

Bastila placed her hands on her hips, tapped her foot on the landing pad nervously. "That assassin droid of yours is going to get us in trouble one day."

"Getting himself into trouble is much more likely." Revan turned to the rest of the crew, who were all waiting patiently for direction. "I'm thinking we'll try the local cantinas first and move on to..." He did a quick headcount. "Where's Jolee?"

In response, Mission placed her hands together and rested her head against them like a pillow.

"He's still sleeping?" Revan couldn't believe it. "You're serious?"

Juhani took a step forward, her ears leveled in embarrassment. "I tried to wake him when we landed, but he has become increasingly... um, _dormant_ of late. Would you like for to try again?"

Revan shook his head. He didn't think he'd ever figure out the old Jedi. "No need." He made a gesture with his hand and manipulated the Force beneath the _Ebon __Hawk_. The ship lifted off its starboard strut and tilted to port. There were a few loud crashes as things slid around, but eventually he heard the sound he'd been waiting for.

"GAH!" Jolee's shouts of panic carried all the way down the loading ramp. Somewhere in the ship, a lightsaber ignited. Revan took that as his cue and let the _Hawk_ down gently.

It took a minute—which most of the crew spent trying to stifle their laughter—but eventually, Jolee Bindo stormed down the loading ramp, as if charging an enemy in combat.

"Who—!" he shouted at the crew, but was instantly taken aback by the cityscape that surrounded him. "Where—!"

"Nar Shaddaa, Master Bindo," Juhani dutifully informed him.

"Wah? Nar Shad—" Something seemed to click within his mind, returning power to hibernating parts of his brain. "Oh, right. Nar Shaddaa. The Exile. The big search. Yeah."

Canderous socked Revan on the shoulder and said under his breath, "Sometimes I get the feeling Jedi recruitment standards were a little lax back in the Old Man's day."

"I heard that!" Jolee roared back. "And if I hear it again, I'll..." He seemed to forget where he was following that line of thought, and then turned an angry finger toward Juhani. "And another thing! Stop calling me 'Master'."

Juhani's ears perked and she looked around like she'd missed something. "I'm sorry, I don't—"

"I don't care what the Council says. I'm not _a_ Master, and I'm not _your_ Master."

The Cathar nodded at all the right moments. She had likely gotten this talk a few times since their time on Coruscant. "Understood, Mas— Jolee."

"Okay." Jolee looked around, saw the rest of the crew staring him down. "What? What are we waiting for?"

"You," Revan said quickly. "How was your nap?"

"Nap!" Mission balked, outright stunned. "He was asleep in his bunk for, like, _ever!_"

Zalbaar growled in agreement.

"_Ever,_" she repeated with a stomp of her foot.

Canderous hefted his rifle. "Forever. Now there's a conservative estimate," he grunted. "He was practically comatose."

Jolee whirled on the Mandalorian. "Now listen here you..."

Revan scratched the back of his neck, waiting for the scheduled biweekly tiff to come to an end. He could see Bastila, her back turned to the crew, bringing her hand up to her face to hide a smile.

And suddenly, he remembered how much he'd missed moments like this. They had been few and quick to end when Malak was still a prominent threat. Brief spats and patient understanding, shared stories of love and loss, acting for each other as if they were all bound by a life debt. Because here they were, their mission over and far from home, yet still they followed without complaint—with excitement even.

Revan smiled, realizing he used the label "crew" far too loosely, when "family" had been the word he was looking for all along.


	14. Stars in Memory

_Revan and Malak didn't look away from the sight outside their viewport. They didn't so much as blink, or react in any visible way as Malachor V imploded into a cloud darker than the space around it._

_Meetra couldn't bring herself to look outside. She could hardly see anything past her tears, anyway. Just faintly, she thought she saw Revan look down at her, and he whispered something, only briefly, before turning back to the orchestrated chaos beyond—_

_"This is but a taste of the dark side."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Ten - Stars in Memory

* * *

><p>There was a methodology to killing Jedi that could not be partially-embraced or nearly-learned; it required the student to give everything they had, everything they would be, to every move they made in the conflict. It required a balanced mind not tainted by aggression or emotion, cunning that would allow the student to move in tandem with a Jedi warrior, and the willingness to do what had to be done no matter the cost.<p>

And the cost was always high.

Meetra taught her students to approach each fight with subtlety; Jedi often employed the standard rules of engagement, or the "attack when attacked" mantra. This would allow the students to size up each fight, plan their moves, identify their targets, their weaknesses, any obstacles on the field. Sometimes it would even allow them to speak to the Jedi before a fight and prod their mind accordingly.

"Jedi are not gods," she would remind her class. "They all have a weakness. Whether that weakness is physical or mental is for you to determine before the fight."

It was a rarity to find a Jedi Master alone. Jedi almost _always_ traveled in pairs, sometimes with trusted partners, mostly with Padawan learners. "If they are together, assume there is a connection. Teacher and student. Lifelong friends. If you can identify this before blades cross, then you will have already assured your victory."

Going for the Padawan was the standard technique. Seeing their student, the child they had practically raised, in danger was a surefire way to send the Knight or Master into mental turmoil. Without that balance, they had diminished or uncontrolled influence over the Force. They would be as an ordinary being with a laser sword.

"_That_ is your time to strike," Meetra would explain. "If you fail to exploit that window of opportunity, you have lost. A more experienced Jedi will regain their influence over the Force. It might even be amplified. A lesser Jedi will allow that mental turmoil to boil down into anger, rage. The dark side will temporarily be their ally, and such a Jedi is just as dangerous."

The Republic army had given her unit of black ops Jedi-killers the call sign "Hunters." Simple, perhaps, but it stuck until the end of the war, possibly beyond.

The Hunters were forbidden from knowing each other's names or fraternizing outside of the mission. Each agent was assigned a random number to be used in place of a name, though the CO was always "Zero." This would keep the Jedi from exploiting any memories or emotional connections.

"Emotions in this unit are as deadly as any blaster bolt," Zero would often repeat to his squad. His contribution to the instruction was that Hunters should keep their thoughts occupied; playing pazaak mentally, recalling random factoids, counting backwards, counting footsteps. Doing so constructed a mental barrier that even Meetra had to admit was very effective.

In the coming days, Meetra would ensure the Hunters' ability to act autonomously, taking orders only from herself and the few in high command. Primarily Admiral Saul Karath, Revan, and Malak.

The purpose of this unit? Meetra could only grasp at the obvious: that Revan would need Jedi disposed of down the line, and with the "Revanites" already spread thin enough as it was, he'd needed another alternative. A group of Jedi-killers who could employ mental barriers and were well-trained in the echani martial arts certainly fit the bill.

The Mandalorian Wars had been winding down at the time, and Revan already had Malachor V set squarely in his sights. No one in the high command could foresee what shape their probable victory could take, the kinds of power vacuums they'd be forced to deal with. The war would be over with the Mandalorians defeated, but would it be the end of hostilities?

The Neo-Crusaders had taken advantage of the Republic's weakened state after Exar Kun's war. Meetra, Revan, and Malak would often sit around discussing the possibility that another force could conceivably swoop in after the Mandalorians were dealt with. And given the current state of the Republic military, the three of them decided that it wouldn't take much to overthrow what was left.

In the end, Revan had decided to take all threats seriously; sending special forces to discreetly terminate any signs of organized rebellion against the Republic, listeners to keep track of allied and sovereign systems that could possibly go turncoat, and even planting spies inside the Jedi Order and the Galactic Senate.

His thinking that the Jedi Order might eventually become involved is what prompted the creation of Meetra's Hunters. During that initial conversation with Revan, Meetra had been willing, completely willing, to follow Revan's every line of thought and will it into reality.

Revan knew his enemy, knew the galaxy, in ways that astounded even the best and brightest of the Republic's Military Intelligence division. That knowledge is what had enabled the Republic to not only put a stop to the Mandalorian onslaught, but push them back, star by star, until Malachor was all they had left.

Meetra followed Revan, obeyed his every order, because she knew something that the Republic, the Order, and Military Intelligence didn't. She knew that Revan had looked into the dark, had become intimate with something that the galaxy at large had no knowledge of, no name for.

She knew that Revan was able to stay two steps ahead of the Mandalorians, beat them at every turn, because he could see the hand that guided them—a hand that tore at the living from somewhere in the Unknown Regions.

Meetra had never bothered to accompany Revan and Malak to the worlds and ruins they insisted on visiting in secret. On Dantooine, Manaan, Kashyyyk, Tatooine. After they would return, always looking worse for the wear, she would ask them what they found.

Revan would reply, in his teasingly cryptic way, "A path of light and shadow."

Meetra followed Revan down that path until Malachor V blinded her to it. Presently, she could hear his voice in memory, as she sat leaned up against the wall of the krayt dragon's cave, watching stars dance in gentle orbits. This was the looking glass through which Revan had come to know the dark and see, in full view, the path of light and shadow that he followed until he returned empowered.

Meetra stared, paled and unblinking, hoping to see it for herself.

–

The stars that hovered above the ancient device were fairly unrecognizable to Meetra, though she admitted to herself that it'd been years since she had any use for an astrochart. Symbols throughout the hologram appeared and disappeared, perhaps labeling different star systems and worlds, but she couldn't make sense of any of it. None of the "letters" seemed even remotely close to galactic basic.

But there was something there: a formation of stars that appeared in the hologram every other minute or so. She recognized it, but she couldn't remember the system. Her mind was swimming from lack of food and water.

Meetra sifted through the corpses, keeping her thoughts firmly on the star formation. It was a helpful distraction as she pulled a small cloth pack from the stripped ribcage of a dead Human female. She gagged and turned back toward the hologram before it got further than that.

Inside the pack was a collection of maps, a magnetic compass, and a plug of chewstim. Without thinking about the quality, she crammed the whole plug into her mouth and started chewing. Reacting to the taste, her mouth managed to salivate for the first time in hours. Her eyelids fluttered at the sensation.

With a small bit of energy returning to her, she opened the maps and looked at them under the gentle, sky blue light of the hologram. The first one seemed to be a stratigraphic map of the surrounding area, which was entirely useless to her. Judging by the magnetic compass that accompanied it—which was equally useless to her, espeically on a planet like Tatooine—she guessed the woman had been a prospector of some kind, possibly for Czerka Corp.

Not that it mattered now.

The second map confirmed her suspicion, when the first thing she noticed was the Czerka logo in the bottom-right corner. The map was actually a grid, with a scattering of locations marked upon it, places the woman had already prospected.

Meetra set the maps aside and continued sifting through the bones, but there was little else. The dragon likely devoured anything that wasn't bone, and had apparently been doing so for a very long time, judging by the dense piles of decay. She wondered who'd finally taken the beast down, quietly hoping the monster hadn't been provided a quick death.

Pushed into the dirt, beneath the body of a Rodian, was a flask of what smelled like pulkay. Any kind of liquid sounded wonderful, but liquor would only make things worse for her. She didn't need to be dehydrated any more than she already was.

She went to toss it into the pile with the maps, nonetheless, and on the way accidentally kicked a round canteen out of the dust. In a frenzy, she unscrewed the cap and poured its contents into her mouth. She was grateful it was water that came spilling out, since she hadn't checked it at all. Some beings required something added to their water to absorb it properly, chemicals that were sometimes deadly to other beings.

But thankfully, it was just plain water, cooled by the earth.

Meetra drank until she bounced with hiccups. About half of the canteen was left when she was done, and she was glad that she still retained the good sense to ration it. Though a plug of chewstim and a canteen of water wouldn't be enough to survive off of, it was enough to bring her back from the brink.

Her body relaxed. Her eyes took one more look at the hologram. The tiny bit of nourishment was enough to allow her mind to connect the dots in the smallest way. A star cluster appeared briefly, flanked by a series of those strange symbols. The image brought back a memory: as she sat in a briefing room with Revan and Malak, discussing the next batch of strategies they'd be deploying to the rest of the Republic forces.

A hologram of the Gordian Reach Sector had come to life before them.

_"We've spotted Cassus Fett's forces in orbit around Yavin Four,"_ Malak said, grinning. _"It's no scouting party, at least judging from the size of the fleet that dropped in."_

Revan shared a look of excitement with his friends. _"This could be his first mistake of many,"_ he said. _"Attacking a long-abandoned Republic forward operating base isn't going to do much for his rank—or his life, depending how Mandalore reacts."_

Malak shrugged. _"One less thing to worry about. Fett was growing to be more of an annoyance than a 'worthy adversary.' The way to Malachor Five just became a lot less treacherous."_

Meetra heard herself say, _"Lieutenant Bao Dur's device is nearly completed, from what I understand. It should be ready to deploy by the time we're planetside."_

_"Excellent! Yet another thing we no longer have to worry about."_

_ "There always seems to be one less thing these days,"_ Revan said, lowly enough that it might have been to himself. He pressed a button on his console—

And there it was.

_"As soon as an opportunity presents itself, we need to get there. Aside from winning this war, nothing else matters."_ Revan pointed to a formation of stars cradled in a green nebulosity, a dark blue line leading out of it to mark the Daragon Trail. At the end of the Trail, and at the entrance of the nebulosity, was the star system that at once, across time, Revan and Meetra labeled: _"Korriban."_

In Meetra's cave hovered that same star system.

"Korriban," she said again, emphatically this time.

It was the next step Revan and Malak had taken after the destruction of Malachor V. She had always known that's where they would've gone, but now she was beginning to understand why. They had followed it, and became wielders of a new kind of power. A dark one, but power nonetheless.

Meetra scrambled over to the dead prospector's maps, her recovered memory granting her another boon. On the grid of possible resource locations, she saw that each were marked with a timestamp. It was conceivable, then, that the earliest timestamp had been marked near a camp or settlement the prospector had departed.

All she had to do was follow the markings backward in time. It wasn't much, but it was all she had left to cling to. That, and a star map of the Horuset System—where Korriban whispered her name.

–

Meetra waited out the long minutes until the sandstorm had died down, and then she left. Her sense of direction was keen enough, following sun and shadow, and was able to find the first marker near the rusted husk of an abandoned speeder. By the time she reached the second marker, she was exhausted again, sipping at her canteen only when she felt herself passing out.

She found another marker, driven into a dry lake bed. Seeing it relieved her of a little too much of her strength. She collapsed, her limbs were jelly, her skin was on fire.

Before she passed out, she wrenched the canteen up to her lips and poured the last of the water into her mouth. The rest of the nearly-dissolved chewstim was washed into her stomach. The map showed one last marker and the suns were beginning to set.

One last marker, and she wasn't sure if she'd be able to make it. There was simply nothing left. Not even thoughts of Zand could spur her on; the divide between her will and body was growing exponentially.

Meetra lay down on the dry lake bed, terrified at how little she could do now. The suns sank away, drawing out the darkness in the sky. As the horizon faded away, the stars appeared... but no, they weren't stars, were they?

She lifted her head up an inch or two, and saw the lights of a city.


	15. III: Balance Point

III: Balance Point

* * *

><p><strong>[3,961 BBY - Five Years Ago]<strong>

**[Operation Riptide: + 52m 21s]**

Revan fell into the Force, pulling his lightsaber from the chest of another Mandalorian warrior. There was silence in the pavilion now, the dull white gloss of the walls granting an eerie hollowness to it all. Holograms jumped from the walls, briefly advertising some unknown beverage to the corpses in the Selkath language of clicks and slurps before winking away. The vents overhead switched on, pumping out more of the humidified, salt-tasting air.

There was a certain unevenness to Ahto City that threw Revan off. He didn't like it here and he didn't want to stay. There were some places in the galaxy that hadn't been built with offworld visitors in mind. This place was one of them. So while the battle was progressing as planned, things like randomly-placed swim tanks and the extreme humidity were definitely slowing progress a bit.

_"General Revan,"_ said Commander Acys through the comm, noticeably winded. _"All LZs have been cleared and targets Alpha, Beta, and Tango are neutralized. We will proceed to secondary targets at your command."_

"Permission granted, Commander," replied Revan. With the beaches emptied and their foothold secured, all that was left was to disable the anti-air and -orbital cannons, precariously positioned atop the city's tallest skyscrapers. Whether or not the buildings' lifts were still powered was in flux, and without those lifts, the climb would be a difficult one.

But they had little choice in the matter if they wanted any kind of air support—and they definitely wanted it.

"Target Omega is neutralized on this end," he continued. "Proceed with caution and keep this channel open."

_"Roger that, General. Over and out."_

Revan flipped through the channels, using his other hand to signal his platoon to take up firing positions. "Malak, are you there?"

Static popped through the speaker. Expected, given the estimated distance. _"Where else would I be, brother?"_

"How are things progressing?"

_"Undersea docking is cleared and we're moving on. We'll have a straight shot to a very nice submersible when the time comes."_

"Very good, Malak," Revan said. He could see the light of the next Star Map in his mind, wondering all the while which piece of the puzzle it held. "I'm going to contact Meetra and then we'll be moving forward, as well. May the Force be with you, brother."

_"And you, Revan."_

Revan wheeled through the channels again. "Meetra, is the capitol building clear?"

Blasterfire came back through the speaker, followed closely by Meetra's voice. _"Not yet. Nearly there_," she replied evenly, putting Revan at ease.

"I'll let you get back to that, then," he said, attempting to lighten the mood.

_"We appreciate that."_ More blasterfire popped in the background. _"You can put your feet back up now."_

"With pleasure," Revan laughed. "Good luck."

_"We appreciate that,"_ she repeated. _"Meetra out."_

One of the soldiers marched up to Revan, saluted. "We've found the access tunnel that'll take us into the skyscraper."

"Very good." Revan nodded. "How many floors between us and the cannons?"

The soldier hefted her blaster-rifle, suddenly noticing the weight of it. "We've estimated a hundred and ten stories, sir."

"All right." He motioned for the soldier to lead the way. "Let's get climbing."


	16. The Jedi Way

_Mandalore stood fast. "Would you allow me the courtesy of looking upon the face of the man who defeated me?"_

_Revan laughed. "Oh, but you are, Mandalore the Ultimate. You've seen this face before, I can feel it in your thoughts. Every solemn night when you contemplated your losses alone in your room, your mind looked to me. I was but a formless juggernaut, shattering your dreams of a galactic empire like so much glass under my boot._

_"I am still that same entity. You could look behind this mask and gaze into my flesh, but nothing would change. You would never be able to comprehend what your eyes might find. You would still find your defeat, and it would be without a name."_

_Mandalore's hands balled into fists and his head lowered to look down upon the Jedi. "It is a matter of honor."_

_"Honor is of little use to me."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Eleven - The Jedi Way

* * *

><p>The wall lit up. A Human female with dark skin emerged from the hologram, strutting the length of the wall, wearing only a bikini and a jeweled circlet around her hair. An expensive-looking blaster pistol appeared in her hand and she held it close to her cheek, batting long eyelashes flecked with silver.<p>

_"You're only as impressive as the weapon you carry,"_ she insisted. Her voice, amplified and synthesized to be as sultry as possible, echoed off the surrounding buildings. _"The new BlasTec BC-Twenty. The weapon that makes every shot truly count."_

The woman shapeshifted into a Twi'lek, wearing the same clothes, holding the same pistol. _"Neh'wa nartu-chu de wa yesneh,"_ she said, walking in the opposite direction. _"De BlasTec Beh Cheh-Tesnah. Ahcu'tah wana nartu-chu semarah."_

Just as the hologram shapeshifted again—this time into a Cathar—Revan, Bastila and Carth rounded the next corner into the Odslidian District Plaza. A dozen more gargantuan holograms were there to meet them, swooping in to take up the advertisement dead space. The dense crowds of pedestrians managed to keep their eyes forward, not a one of them blinking at the many intrusive ads that danced above their heads.

Revan admired their discipline. With all the flashing lights and loud sounds that phased through a dozen different languages, he wondered how anyone here could stand it all. His own eyes helplessly tracked most of the sudden movements in the sky. He was starting to get exhausted from it.

"Not even sure what half these ads are selling," Carth muttered. "Do they want me to buy something, or just blind me?"

"Maybe a bit of both," Revan replied. "Nothing on this moon has failed to surprise me yet."

"See look at this one here." Carth pointed at a hologram of a Neimoidian, which raised its hand in greeting and then flickered away. "What was the point of that?"

Bastila laughed. "I wouldn't even attempt to find the logic behind anything here, Carth," she said. "You'll just end up giving yourself a headache."

"Right." Carth nodded, unconvinced, and then jumped at another advertisement as it sprang to life beside him. "I don't like this place."

"Agreed," Revan and Bastila said in unison.

They weaved through various streams of pedestrian traffic, passed between platforms, until they found themselves in a seedier part of the district, one that was much more likely to house a cantina or two. They could tell by the scantily clad females standing about, offering services with a glance; the intensified smell of trash; the way half the pedestrians walked as if the platform was shaking.

"We're getting close," Revan said, knowingly stating the obvious. "I hope the others are faring a little better than we are."

"Two Jedi, a hacker, a Wookiee, and a Mandalorian," Carth replied. "I think they have a decent group going."

"A Jedi, a hacker, a Wookiee, a Mandalorian, and _Jolee_."

"Okay, so let's say I retract my previous statement, I still think they'll be okay. Canderous worked Taris, after all, so he probably knows the game here fairly well."

"You're right about that."

"He'll also never let us live it down if he finds this Meetra Surik before we do."

Carth was right about that, as well. As far as Canderous was concerned, "bragging rights" meant he had the _right_ to brag all day. Sharing a starship with the Mandalorian after he had pleased the memory of Clan Ordo was not something Revan would ever do willingly. Not again, at least; ten times was his limit.

"Let's double our efforts, shall we?" Revan pointed to the nearest cantina on the street and the three of them approached the entrance of the Jekk'Jekk Tarr with all due confidence.

–

One of the more unique cantina on Nar Shaddaa, the Jekk'Jekk Tarr was divided into five different levels, providing different atmospheres in each. For people looking to taste the air of their homeworld, this was the closest alternative. Of the five levels, four were toxic to Humans, which left Revan, Bastila, and Carth with few options in that regard.

They entered the lift to the fifth level, silently hoping they wouldn't pop out into the wrong atmosphere. Revan shifted around, lowering his arm to touch the lightsaber on his belt. Something didn't seem quite right to him. He felt uncomfortable; the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Then again, this was Nar Shaddaa.

The lift opened and they were greeted with the relaxing, neutral taste of oxygen. The three breathed a sigh of relief, grateful they could breathe at all.

"Where should we start?" Carth asked, lowly.

Revan motioned to the center of the room. "When in doubt, ask the bartender."

Behind the counter was a rugged-looking Mon Calamari, his fist-sized eyes looking abnormally dreary as he washed down a mug. The music blared, glasses clanked and clattered on the bar, booth conversations swung from muted to uproarious and back again, and the bartender reacted to absolutely none of it. Like he had already checked out.

Revan approached the bar and tried to wave the Calamari down, but the bartender didn't notice. "Excuse me," he said over the music.

The bartender didn't so much as blink. "What can I get you, sir?" he said, slurring the delivery a bit.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing to interrupt. What'll it be?"

Revan briefly glanced over his shoulder. Carth and Bastila shrugged. "I, ah... I'm looking for a friend of mine."

The bartender smiled, and uttered a quick slurping noise that could have been a laugh. "I don't keep a roster of the drunks in this district, son. Maybe the other barkeeps are different, but I don't get paid enough to do much more than this." He held up the dirty mug.

"Her name is Meetra Surik," Revan said.

"Never heard of him."

"Her."

"Whatever." The Mon Calamari picked up another mug and gave it quick rinse with a water jet. "Barkeeps hear a lot of things, but that's only 'cause they care to listen. I'm not one of them. Stopped bringing my caring attitude to work a long time ago."

Revan moved to the side, forcing his way into the bartender's field of vision. "Have I offended you in some way?"

"Son, this district isn't the crown jewel of the moon. I get one too many thugs in here asking similar questions one too many times, so forgive me for getting bored of repeating myself on a daily basis."

"Ah." Revan relaxed onto a bar stool. "Forgive me for bothering you."

The bartender waved him off. "Think nothing of it."

"No, really. I feel terrible."

"Space between the stars, son."

Revan leaned forward, made a subtle gesture with his hand. "Unrelated question: Have you heard the name Meetra Surik?"

The bartender stopped washing his mug. His lazy eyes widened a little. "Meetra... Surik?"

"Human female. Brown hair, blue eyes, a few years younger than I."

"No," the Mon Calamari said, shaking his oversized head. "Never heard the name."

"If I needed someone found, to whom would I speak?"

The bartender's eyelid twitched. "Nar Shaddaa?" A quick slurp. "Nothing found on Nar Shaddaa."

Revan sighed. "Fantastic." He released his influence over the Force and the bartender resumed operations, though he seemed more than a bit confused. "Thank you for your help."

"Yes..." The bartender looked down at the mug, turned it over in his hand. "Not a problem, son..."

Revan went back to meet his companions, both of whom already looked like they'd had enough of this place. "Didn't think we'd get anything the first time, anyway."

Bastila took up Revan's hand. "Nothing at all?"

Revan shook his head. "I can't imagine how many people we'll have to ask before we get somewhere. They could've dropped her on the other side of the moon, for all we know."

"We have time, dear," she said. "Patience. The droids will check the moon's listings—along with other files they shouldn't have any legal right to see—and we'll keep asking around in the meantime."

"Besides," Carth added, "in a place like this, if you keep asking the right question: word gets around."

"Right," Revan said, squeezing Bastila's hand. She squeezed back. "I guess I just got my hopes up."

"Like you said, this was only the first person we asked."

"Yeah." Revan looked around the room. "I guess we could always check the other levels, but I should confess that I'm not very good at holding my breath."

"No need," insisted Bastila. "Let's ask the patrons around here and then make our way to another cantina."

Revan smiled. "Sounds good. There has to be... someone..." His muscles suddenly went tense, his blood ran cold. He turned in time to see a group of Mandalorians exit the lift and proceed into a private lounge off the dance floor. Something was wrong; one of those men had looked familiar. He just couldn't place him.

"What is it?" Bastila asked, sensing Revan's discontent.

"That Mandalorian..."

Bastila looked toward the door into the lounge and then back to Revan. "What about him?"

The warm caress of anger moved across the back of Revan's neck, then disappeared. "Let's go talk to him." He strode in the direction of the private lounge, fighting over control of his memories.

"Hey!" the bartender called to him. "You can't go in there!"

"Yes, I can," Revan said with a gesture.

"Of course, you can!" The Mon Calamari continued to wash the same mug as before.

The door was locked with a deadbolt, but a push through the Force popped it open without effort. Revan noticed Carth checking the safety switch on his blaster. Bastila's hand lifted her lightsaber from her belt.

They emerged into a wide office. The Mandalorians were huddled around a desk near a window that provided an excellent view of the Divide: the crevasse between districts that served as a freighter hub and starport. Sitting on the desk was a holoemitter, which flickered off just as Revan caught sight of it.

He knew he had seen her in that recording. He had just seen Meetra fall away through the holo.

The Mandalorians turned at once, raised their blaster rifles at the intruders' heads. Their boss, his arm and right eye cyborged, also raised his weapon and leveled it at Revan's chest. Even now, he still seemed familiar. Revan just couldn't place who it was.

"These friends of yours, Krantz?" the boss asked.

A Chiss behind the desk, wearing a very nice suit, shook his head, though no one was looking in his direction. "No. Not in the least."

"Maybe they're just lost, eh?" The boss moved up and jammed the barrel of his rifle against Revan's chest. "Is that it, kid? You lost? Maybe you ought to turn around and get yourself back to the bar – and be grateful I'm not looking to kill anyone in my business partner's office if I don't have to."

Revan could feel Carth and Bastila's eyes boring into the back of his head, waiting for him to make any kind of move. They weren't in any danger, though. Not yet. His vision faded, the voices of the past whispered sad truths into his mind.

The Dark Lord was in the room with them.

"Who are you?" Revan asked, ignoring the rifle aimed at his heart. "I know you from somewhere."

"You don't know me, boy," the boss growled. "My finger's on the trigger now. Leave."

"I will not." Revan pointed to the desk. "You looked familiar to me, so I followed you. And just now, I saw the face of my friend in that holoimage. That's not a coincidence, and my being here isn't an accident. So, I'll ask you again..."

The boss pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He looked down at his rifle, which proceeded to fall apart in his hands. "What the...?"

"I've had practice." Revan pushed through the Force, sending the boss tumbling back into his compatriots. The man behind the desk had begun to sweat, crouching down for cover. "Who are you?" he asked again. "I don't like repeating myself."

"Blast him!" the boss shouted.

Revan fell into the Force. His lightsaber ignited, darted between blaster bolts, sending each back to their source. The Mandalorians – all but the boss – were struck through the heart and collapsed. Revan closed the distance, bringing the blade around against the neck of the boss.

"Stop!" The Mandalorian's false eye changed color to adjust for Revan's sudden closeness. He was breathing heavily, doing his best to keep his neck as still as possible. A patch of his beard was burned away by Revan's blade. "What do you want?"

Revan grinned in a way that felt unfamiliar to him. He quickly realized he no longer had any control over his movements, but he didn't care. His dark passenger would get the information he needed out of the Mandalorian.

"I remember you now," Revan said, still grinning madly. "At Onderon. At Manaan. At Arkanis. At _Malachor_." He chuckled to himself. "I remember your face in the cargo bay when I slaughtered your leader before your eyes. Funny thing: you didn't seem very sad about it, then."

The boss relaxed. His good eye widened. "No..."

"Cassus Fett. We've never really been acquainted, face to face, but I knew your work. Not a week went by when my fleet didn't have to break through one of your maneuvers or formations. I really came to admire your work; you were an amazing strategist. I feel like I got to know you quite well in that time. You don't lead an army or guide a fleet without putting your soul on the line."

"No," Cassus muttered to himself. "You're not Revan... Revan's dead. Malak killed him."

"Not saying I don't agree with you."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for a friend," Revan said. He pulled the holoemitter to his hand and held it in front of Cassus's face. "And you know where she is."

Cassus forced a smile. "Wouldn't make a difference. She's long dead by now."

Revan blanked out for a moment. He had to fight through a torrent of emotions to get back to the present. "Now, why would that be?"

"That was the job," he hissed. "This Chiss hired us to take her out. She was going by a different name, living on Tattooine."

"This Chiss hired you?" Revan asked, pointing to the man behind the desk.

"That's the one."

Revan gripped the Chiss by the neck through the Force, and with a casual movement of his arm, sent the man crashing through the window. The Chiss screamed at the top of his lungs as he disappeared into the chaos of the Divide.

"Revan!" Bastila shouted over the rushing wind pouring through the broken window. "Stop this!"

Revan ignored her and brought his lightsaber closer to Cassus' neck. The Mandalorian's skin reddened and burned. "Where is she!"

"We dropped her in the middle of the Dune Sea!" Cassus was struggling now, screaming against the pain from his neck. "The geosync coordinates are embedded on the holo!"

Revan released Cassus and placed the holoemitter in a pocket on his robe. "Thanks, old friend." He patted the Mandalorian on the shoulder, deactivated his lightsaber. "I'll leave you to your decay." He returned to his companions, and the worried look upon Bastila's face was enough to right the anger that had been building inside.

A feeling of shame crept into him. "I'm..." His words tapered off. How many times had he apologized?

"You'd leave me like this." Cassus spat, still canted up against the desk as though his legs were useless. "I always knew you were an unworthy opponent—and didn't need Malachor to tell me that. Even now, after all this time, you walk into this room, dragging not a shred of real honor behind you."

"Honor is of little use to me. Your lot wasted many words on such concepts. That's probably why you lost."

Cassus forced himself to stand. "We lost because we treated your armies as warriors—not the animals that you were. Animals to be put down by any means."

"Just remember who lost, Fett," Carth shot back, returning his blaster to its holster. "Come on, Revan. Let's get out of here."

"Yeah..." Revan turned his back on Cassus, though it took much of his strength to do so. A voice in his head that sounded too much like his own continued fighting him.

_Kill him now!_

_Do it, Revan!_

_Strike him down!_

"Animals..." Cassus continued, panting. "_Unworthy_. I know this because the day I finally met one of you Jedi, I'm the one who came out alive. Me! Your friend, Surik, died without a fight. I gave her the opportunity to regret she had _ever_ crossed paths with me. She had a lot of time to think about it, too—when I dropped her from that shuttle."

Revan's eyes drifted up, meeting Bastila's. She gasped at what she saw, and Revan could only imagine the rage she could glean behind his eyes. The grip on his lightsaber tightened, and his thumb toggled the activation plate.

She said something in a panic. "No," probably. Something, anything, to keep him from turning his back on her. To keep him from giving in to his anger, his hate, his sadness. He had let Meetra go over Malachor—at a time no true friend would—and that indifference may have gotten her killed in some unknowable and desolate place in the galaxy. If she was dead, she had died alone.

Cassus Fett was asking Revan for an honorable death, as so many Mandalorians throughout the war had. As Mandalore had. And with Bastila looking on in horror, Revan delivered it.


	17. Lonesome Road

_"We are children of the Force, Malak," Revan said at length. "You cannot hide your feelings from me, no matter how deeply you bury them."_

_"There is nothing I wish to say," Malak answered. "Let us finish your quest and be done with it."_

_"_My_ quest, Malak? At what point did I take possession of this thing that was _our_ creation."_

_"When you began to walk in places that I cannot." Malak growled a little under his breath. "There is power at the end of this path. Supreme power, and don't think for one moment that I've not seen it coming."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Twelve – Lonesome Road

* * *

><p>"Miss?" the Twi'lek asked in a clumsy form of Basic. "Human miss? Are you in distress?"<p>

Meetra came back to herself and discovered she had been sleeping on a row of plasteel canisters. Nothing about the way she was feeling made her believe she should be alive. Her body felt withered, lifeless; her skin burned as though she had just walked through fire and doused herself with plateau fire ants; her mouth and lips tasted of dust and were just as dry.

And just how the Seven Corellian Hells had she ended up on these canisters again?

She tried to sit up but the pain in her back jerked her off balance and she fell into the sand. The Twi'lek halfheartedly helped her onto her feet.

"You want doctor?" he asked. "Shall I get him?"

"No," is what Meetra meant to say, but her dry throat could only produce a sharp wheeze. She forced herself back onto her feet and started walking toward the exit without another word for the Twi'lek.

At the exit, the light of Tatooine's twin suns struck her head-on, and she thought she might faint again. With energy she didn't think she had, she stumbled through the streets of Anchorhead, trying to make her way back home. Her vision doubled, tripled, went altogether hazy and she had to wave her hands around wildly to keep from slamming into walls.

Her full focus was centered on staying mobile and somewhat balanced, but she could still hear the laughs and the snide comments being exchanged around her as she plodded along. The ones who didn't speak Basic joked loudly, thinking no one else would understand them. Sometimes, Meetra wished she wasn't as good with languages as she was. The insults being directed at her held a poetic severity in other languages that stung much worse than they should have—especially in her condition.

Minutes passed like days. By the time Meetra's hands found the keypad of her front door, she felt as though she'd already lived and died a thousand times. Her fingers fumbled across the pad, muscle memory the only thing guiding them. Inside her house, the air was relatively cool; it was enough to get her across the room and into the bathroom, where she managed to get her shower running.

She passed out under the faucet just as the water reached her lips.

–

"I'm going to tell you a lie, Meetra," Revan said. His eyes hadn't turned away from the sky, where the Mandalorian fleet still burned as bright as the stars around them. "This is what I wanted for the three of us."

Meetra, on the other hand, hadn't turned away from the ground, where their campfire burned up flammable enemy provisions. She blinked. Her eyes felt dry. "What did you say, Revan?"

Revan tucked his hands away beneath his robes. "Do you remember when you took your first steps onto that transport? The one that would take you away from Dantooine?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"What did you feel?"

She was too tired to say anything but the truth. "I was afraid."

"Of what?"

"I don't know." Meetra tried to humor Revan, but thinking back that far was painful. "Why are you asking me this? Is something wrong?"

Revan's expression went distant again. "I feel as though taking you and Malak away from Dantooine was not right of me. Perhaps you should have stayed."

"Stayed? On Dantooine?" Meetra rose. "What was left for us?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you can stop right there. I don't like seeing you this way. You've had that look in your eyes since Onderon. Malak's noticed it, too. What's changed?"

_"We have."_

–

Meetra's water rations expired and her shower shut off with a loud thump. Her consciousness drifted back up to the surface of her reality, taking in her senses one at a time. She felt the pain in her burned skin first, heard the _drip drip drip_ of the faucet, the heavy mineral taste of Tatooine water, the smell of her sweat-soaked clothes, and the blinding sunlight filtering through her window. Her body couldn't react much to any of it for several long minutes until her memory offered up a brief glimpse of the Star Map she had gleaned in the desert cave.

It was enough. She pulled herself out of the shower and was able to walk without getting the feeling that the floor was slanting away. As she made her way through the house, echoes from her memories with Revan bounced around on the inside of her mind—his mouth forming the word _Korriban_ over and over.

Meetra ripped open her cabinets and dragged out every bit of food she had. She spent the next hour stuffing her face without shame, washing it down with huge glasses of ice cold water. It didn't take away the burning in her skin and deep in her muscles, but she had some remnant of her energy back. At least enough to make it to bed, where she slept off the greater part of her exhaustion until the twin suns escaped the skies.

–

It was a cold desert night when Meetra left her home on Tatooine for the last time, a pack over her shoulder containing the only worldly possessions she cared to bring with her. Clothes, for the most part. She didn't buy into the misery she would usually feel looking around her home, remembering the circumstances that had led to her exile. There could be no more sadness when her horizon looked to be brightening for the first time in nearly five years.

She didn't know what she would find on Korriban, but there had to be something there. Revan and Malak had found the object of their obsession on the Sith world, and the power they returned with was not anything Meetra knew to be natural, nothing that could be learned in such a short amount of time—not from a Jedi, at least.

Perhaps, in that case, such power could be harnessed by someone like her. Even someone so thoroughly broken, lost to the Force. Perhaps something of the Sith could help her find it again.

Though it was just as likely she would find only more sand, but anywhere else in the galaxy would be better than here.

_Anywhere._

Meetra closed and locked her front door and set her eyes on the Anchorhead Starport, where another cluster of freighters quietly lifted up into the sky, only the light of their thrusters visible, and disappeared into the white streak of the galactic rim shining brightly overhead.

She smiled, limping along down the dusty streets, knowing she'd be on one of the next flights out of the system, and that right soon.

–

Meetra was sitting in the cargo hold for what must have been a few hours before the captain of the _Tambourine_ finally made his appearance. He was a tall man, Korun—like Zand—and bore the scars and stress lines of several decades at the helm. He walked over Meetra, platinum beads hanging from his dreadlocks swaying with every move.

His eyes narrowed and he switched his piece of chewstim into the opposite cheek. "All right," he said, holding out his hand. "Evian Malkem."

She shook it, shooting him a sidelong glance. "Valystra Koryan."

"Hm." Malkem nodded slowly. "Almost sounds like a real name."

Meetra shrugged. "Real enough."

"To each her own," he said. "We operate on the honor system here aboard the _Tambourine_, but if I were to actually enforce it, I'd be out a crew and personally have to resign, so..." He spat stim on the floor. "Here we are."

"Here we are," she said with a nod.

"So here's how things are going to go: Lefty tells me that you're itchin' to get yourself down the Daragon Trail. Is this correct?"

"Yes," she said. "As close as possible."

"Why's that?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not in the least if you have the credits. Just wonderin'."

Meetra gauged his expression for a long moment, unsettled by his demeanor. "I have the credits..."

Malkem scratched his chin. "All right," he said. "Continuing on: we should be able to get you out that way, but not before we swing by Taris to unload a shipment of relief supplies. We'll be there for about a day before we can get back to the starlanes. You'll be our next priority."

"That suits me just fine," Meetra replied. "Thank you, Captain."

"Hm." Malkem stood there, chewing and passing the stim over his gums. "You worry me."

She effected a curious stare. "I'm sorry?"

"For what?"

"No, I mean why do I worry you?"

"Oh." Malkem coughed into his fist. "Just a feelin', I suppose. And maybe the little fact that most of the folks headin' out that way ain't always the nicest, if you catch my drift. They err on the dark side of things, if you see where I'm going with this. They're—"

"I understand, Captain," Meetra snapped. "I understand your concern, but I'm not Sith."

"Nah, you're not Sith. Tired, maybe, but you still got rose in your cheeks." He sat himself down on one of the relief crates. "I've been to Korriban, you know."

Meetra briefly considered ignoring the man. They were already offworld, probably in hyperspace, and the crew was already holding her credits. She decided against it, remembering they were going to be in close quarters for the better part of a standard week. "What makes you think I'm going to Korriban?"

"I'm a spacer, honey. I know a little bit about the galaxy and, as it happens, there is absolutely nothing at the end of the Daragon Trail but the Horuset System."

"Does that change the arrangement?"

"Not in the least," he said evenly. "But I would like to convince you otherwise."

Meetra, likewise, took a seat on one of the crates. "Convince me otherwise?"

"You ever been to Korriban?"

"No."

"I have. Chartered a fine young bunch out of Mygeeto to the Dreshdae Starport on Korriban. Sith hopefuls all, stars in their eyes." Malkem smiled. "The nicest kids I'd met in a long time, if you can believe that. Kids who had been rejected by everything: their respective families, their homeworlds, the Jedi. Everyone. But the Sith take all and that's what drew them out there. Got to know them pretty well over the course of the trip, and I can tell you that not one of 'em deserved what they got.

"Half of 'em were killed during the initiation process the Sith love so much, a few of 'em were hacked up during weapons training, and the rest were sent out into the desert to look for something I'm sure wasn't there." He stood. "My point being, if you're looking for answers out in all that sand and blood, I'm tellin' you, there ain't any."

–

The approach to Taris was a hard one to watch. Meetra sat in the _Tambourine_'s cockpit, with Captain Malkem's "left hand man," Lefty, at the helm. The zabrak tried to keep himself busy so he wouldn't have to look at the planet too intensely. He seemed visibly disturbed, and when Malkem finally took up the copilot's seat, he clapped Lefty on the shoulder. Lefty nodded in return.

"Any contact from the Republic yet?" Malkem asked, dialing back some of the secondary systems.

The zabrak shook his head. "I've been pinging them, but no response yet." He turned away from the viewport. "It's to be expected. They're all running on skeleton crews down there."

"That's fine," Malkem said. "Keep on the heading they gave us. We'll get a hold of 'em one way or another."

"Right." Lefty triple-checked the heading. "Roger that."

Meetra first heard of Taris at the onset of the Mandalorian Wars, when the Republic, fearing the Outer Rim world would be the first to fall to the invading armies, annexed the entire system. It was the first real sign that the Mandalorians were ending their so-called Shadow Campaign at the edge of the galaxy and moving to attack the Republic proper. Onderon and Dxun would fall to the Neo-Crusaders two years later.

She'd, of course, heard of the bombardment of Taris by Darth Malak earlier that year. An entire ecumenopolis completely glassed, nearly six billion lives lost and very few survivors left to even attempt to rebuild.

Malak...

_Her_ Malak.

How long had it been since the Academy? Not even a decade by her reckoning. Less than ten years dividing the present from brighter days on Dantooine, when Malak was just like every other boy in the Enclave. He was one of the finest Padawans in training, happy at all hours of the day, it seemed, and sharp enough to be able keep up with Revan and Shan at their height. Their biggest worry, if it could've been called such, was studying for their next exam.

Meetra couldn't reconcile the images with the still burning world floating soundlessly in front of her. How could that boy, all smiles, bring such darkness upon the galaxy? Where was her friend? The one who told her that life is such a precious thing—and worth defending to the last breath.

"Something tells me, Miss Koryan," Malkem said, nodding toward the ruins of Taris, "when you reach Korriban, you'll find something very, _very_ similar."


	18. Let Go

_"One of the other pilots should be landing soon, and then we can send out for a pickup." Jaq grinned wearily. "Command's gonna be happy to see you back, Admiral Revan. They've been up on their toes waiting for you to return."_

_The man looked confused. "Revan…" he muttered, over and over under his breath. A smile broke across his face. "They might be waiting a very long time."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Thirteen – Let Go

* * *

><p>The stars hung there, lifeless and without meaning. Holes punched haphazardly in the fabric of dark, the light of a million dead stars twinkling, signifying nothing. The hyperdrive engines groaned to life, and the stars turned into starlines with one quick snap. Hyperspace distortion folded in around the viewport, a luminous, amorphous blue curtain that wisped along the hull.<p>

Revan stared into it, seeing his reflection merge and emerge from the distortion, his face twisted into an expression of indifference. It bothered him; his memories hinted at more moments like this, so many more. The transport that carried himself and Malak back and forth to Coruscant, where they learned the Juyo lightsaber form and heard the Room of a Thousand Fountains for the first time. The bridge of the _Duskwind_, where Revan took command of the Republic fleet and watched Malachor V burn away. The shuttle that saw him to Korriban, the Valley of the Dark Lords, and delivered him to the hangar where he cut down his best friend.

Distortion: in and around and through everything. It never changed, yet, it was always different. The same form weaved from new light. The same role played by new actors.

_"It's not over."_

Revan didn't turn away from the viewport. "It's no longer my problem."

_"Do you even know what it is you name?"_

"It doesn't matter."

_"Listen to yourself! What could matter more? How many worlds are burning, right now, to stave off this 'problem'?"_

Hearing footsteps in his cabin, Revan turned to take in the room. He was still alone—so much as a man plagued by so many ghosts can be. "I'm no longer that man."

_"Oh, the man who walks on ash is no longer the one who sparked the flame? How very convenient!"_ The footsteps stopped at Revan's side. _"And I suppose you're not the same man who decapitated Cassus Fett. Nor the one who watched Malachor V disappear into shadow, hunted down Jedi Knights, let entire systems burn to defend others... Just where, exactly, does Darth Revan end... and where do you begin, if at all?"_

Revan looked out of the corner of his eye and could see Malak standing there for one brief moment, looking much as he had back on Dantooine. "What do you want?"

_"There is more at work here in the galaxy than you and your redemption play,"_ the voice insisted. _"The Republic doesn't need another Jedi brought back to the light. If you recall, this was one of the reasons you left Dantooine in the first place."_

Revan whirled on the voice, but nothing was there. He took another look at the hyperspace distortion and paced his cabin. "And the Republic doesn't need another Sith Lord, either. I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, would tell me this."

_"You were right. Always have been, and still are."_ The footsteps trailed off. _"You walk a lonesome road, and you used to know why. You've spent far too long trying to make up for your past already, and not enough time making peace with yourself."_

"Stop..."

_"You are Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith—"_

"No!"

_"The Scourge of Malachor. The Butcher of Felucia. The Fallen Knight. The Revanchist, your blade alight with the righteous fire of retribution."_

"Darth Revan is _dead_! You killed him, Malak, and perhaps you were right in doing so. I live on in his stead, if one can even call that living."

_"I didn't kill you, Revan,"_ the voice said, growing faint. _"I just delayed you. From contract interpreter aboard the _Endar Spire_ to Savior of the Republic in less than a year. You've returned to your former glory, and then some. Once you've regained control over your memories, you'll see that I'm right."_

Revan's eyes burned. In his reflection on the viewport, its pupils glowed red. "Leave me..."

_"In the face of what approaches, the last thing the galaxy needs is another Jedi from you. Know this—truly know this—and letting go of Meetra will be as easy as when you let go of me."_

"Malak..."

_"Let go,"_ the voice beckoned at a whisper. _"The fate of all things will rely on your willingness to walk a path of light and shadow in the coming days. Continue working in half-measures, and you will see with your waking eyes all that you burned to prevent."_

Revan felt tears in his eyes. "We did this to her, Malak... She's lost to the Force because of us."

_"No one is truly lost, Revan. You showed me that."_ The presence faded. _"Let go..."_

"Malak..." Revan called into the room, but nothing answered. He could feel a surging hollowness in the Force, letting him know that he was alone again. "Malak!" he cried, hoping to draw the specter back. Their bond through the Force had been strong once; practically akin to blood brothers. He wondered if the remnants of that bond had been enough to draw him back from whatever waits on the other side of death.

Or if Revan had finally and completely lost his mind. Neither would have surprised him.

"I'm sorry, brother," he said, easing himself onto his bunk. "I'm sorry."

The door into his cabin opened just then. Bastila quietly sat down next to Revan and, after a moment of prolonged silence, she took up his hand into hers.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Revan considered the question and added another: Just when was the last time he'd even felt all right? "Didn't think you'd want to talk to me."

"And why would you think that?"

He looked at her, his expression hinting at the obvious.

"You scared me back on Nar Shaddaa," she admitted. "What I felt through the Force... it's been a while since I felt anything comparable."

He shook his head. "You mean, not since Darth Revan."

She hesitated. "Yes."

"Were you worried I had fallen again?"

Bastila took a moment to plot out her next words. "I know how much Meetra meant to you. Master Kreia would sometimes refer to you, her and Malak as the Academy Triumvirate—credits to the Jedi Order, destined for seats on the Council, indivisible." She bit her lip. "Basically, I was jealous."

Revan snorted, surprised at his own laughter. "I don't recall any of us mastering the battle meditation technique, Miss Shan. You had plenty to be proud of. Especially with us being in different age groups."

"We can say that now, I suppose. And if you want to indulge in a little flattery, I shall be the last to stop you." She turned away to hide her smile but was quick to get back on topic. "My point is, love, that the people we care about can just as easily be our undoing if we are not mindful. The dark side is patient and it is _always_ there, waiting to catch you if you fall."

"I know this very well," Revan said.

"As do I." Bastila went pale, no doubt remembering her imprisonment by Darth Malak. Days of prolonged torture that ended with the dark side taking her. By the time Revan and the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ found her aboard the Star Forge, she had already sworn allegiance to Malak as his apprentice.

"Very well," she added. "It didn't take so much. To bring me over to his side, that is."

Revan knew Malak's methods all too keenly. "I know what he said to you."

"Then you know how easy it was," Bastila said. "And you know why you scared me on Nar Shaddaa."

Revan stood from the bunk. "You have no reason to be scared around me."

"I know, Revan," she said, rising to stand by his side. "I just don't want to see you lose control again. I know what you're dealing with, and I wish it was something you didn't have to face by yourself."

"The memories come back one at a time, Bastila. Every time I think I've made any kind of progress, I see my blade cut down another Jedi, hear my voice order another orbital strike or prisoner execution. Darth Revan _haunts_ me." He looked down at his hands. "But something tells me that he's still necessary in some way."

"How can you say that?" Bastila asked, stunned.

"There was something I was doing before I lost my memory. Something important, and I believe the Force is trying to show me what it was."

"The Force?" She shook her head. "Revan, the galaxy doesn't need another Sith Lord."

Revan was taken aback. "What did you say?"

Bastila ignored him. "What happened to make you think this?"

"Visions."

"Visions?"

"Through the Force."

Bastila crossed her arms over her chest. "What kind of _visions_?"

"The kind that shouldn't be ignored."

Bastila looked around the cabin, looking at everything but Revan. "So, what does this mean for you?"

Instead of thinking things through, planning for every possible outcome, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Nothing..."

"What?" Bastila made eye contact again. "Nothing?"

Revan nodded. "Nothing," he repeated, not liking the word any more or less the second time. "If there's one thing that the visions have shown me, it's that I have to let go."

–

"So, let's say me and Big Z were in trouble with some big baddie on some weird world and we couldn't save ourselves—which is, like, impossible, I know—would you bring your fleet of super powerful warships to rescue us?"

Carth looked up from the helm. "Would I bring a fleet of the Republic's most powerful battleships, cruisers, scouts, and carriers to some mystery planet?"

Mission nodded. "Yep."

"Sight unseen?"

"Uh-huh."

"With no idea what kind of trouble I'd be facing? Could be an army or it could just be one guy, right?"

"Right, you have _no_ idea," Mission said. "Might be an army of terentateks or maybe just an overbearing Jawa merchant."

"Would I spend the Republic's time, credits, and resources to come rescue you?" asked Carth.

"Mmhmm."

Carth smiled brightly. "Absolutely," he said. "And without hesitation."

"Aw." Mission grinned, likely surprised by the answer. "Even the _Swiftsure_?"

"Especially the _Swiftsure_."

Mission nodded and leaned one of her headtails against the cockpit viewport. The light blue-skinned Twi'lek blended in almost completely against the blue light of hyperspace distortion. "Awesome..."

"I know what you're thinking," Carth said. "This doesn't give you license to get into trouble wherever you feel like it. I'm not going to mobilize the fleet every time you and Zaalbar get light fingers."

"I know," she said. "I mean, we're probably gonna get into a lot of trouble anyway, but it's nice to know the old man is looking out for us."

Revan picked that moment to interrupt the conversation. "Sorry to barge in," he said, "but we have a change of course."

Carth looked over his shoulder. "You got it. Where are we headed?"

Heart beating rapidly and skin running cold, Revan said, "Coruscant."

"That's... in the opposite direction. Word has it your friend's on Tatooine."

While Revan fumbled with the right words, Bastila placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's been several days since Fett dropped her from his ship. Even if she survived the fall..." The thought of it made him shudder. "...she wouldn't have survived the desert."

"But Rev—" Carth began.

"She's gone, Carth. I know it, and I'm sure you know it, too."

Carth said nothing, but looked away nervously.

"There would be nothing to bury," Revan said. "Nothing to find, in any case. I can't keep you all out here searching the Dune Sea for as many days and weeks it would take to find anything."

Carth seemed ready to argue but, perhaps deciding it was useless to lie with a pair of Jedi in the room, caught himself. "I would've looked, you know," he finally said. "If you wanted to scour the world, I would've done it. I still will. Always."

Revan could sense that this was most definitely not a lie. "I know," he said, proud to have a friend like Carth. "For now, let's go home. Because do you know what I really want right now?"

"What's that?"

"I want you to be back with your son, Carth."

The mere mention of Dustil brought a fatherly smile to Carth's face. For as much as Revan knew his friend wanted to help, the drive to be with the son he hadn't seen in years was starting to overrule all other senses. "I'll turn the _Hawk_ around, but I want you to promise me one thing," he began. "I want you to _promise_ that if you strike out on another one of these searches that you won't hesitate to call me."

"Yeah, me, too!" Mission demanded.

Revan pulled Bastila closer and grinned. "I promise," he said. "That's what friends do."

The hyperspace distortion around the _Ebon Hawk_ faded away, starlines shrunk down into stars, and the stars moved at Revan's behest until they had nowhere to go but home.


	19. IV: Shatterpoint

IV: Shatterpoint

* * *

><p><strong>[3,961 BBY – Five Years Ago]<strong>

**[Operation Riptide: + 2h 31m 01s]**

One hundred stories from ground level, Revan's blade moved up to block another blaster bolt, reflecting it back into its owner's forehead. The room fell silent, and it was a familiar feeling. It seemed every tenth level of the skyscraper had been garrisoned by a couple dozen Mandalorian warriors, illustrating just how seriously Cassus Fett and Mandalore were taking this war. Especially now that a stalemate had broken across the fronts.

Revan admired his adversaries a little more for this. For too long, the Neo-Crusaders had underestimated him; feinting during decisive battles, using hit-and-fade as a taunt, blindly attempting to bombard various military installations as though they'd succeed on the first try. He was a threat to them now, and they were treating him as such.

"Ten more floors to the cannons, correct?" Revan asked the CO of his platoon.

After spending the better part of two hours ascending the building, and fighting the entire way up, she had likely seen better days. "Yes, sir," she said, slightly winded. "Still no word over the comm about the situation up there."

"Very likely an unfortunate one," Revan said. "Are your soldiers ready for the last engagement, or do they need a break?"

She turned to her platoon and most of them proceeded to nod. She grinned, hefted the blaster rifle in her arms. "I believe we're ready to finish this fight, General Revan."

"Very good." He wondered if he could keep such soldiers under his command for the rest of the war, just how quickly would everything be over and done with? "The plan of action hasn't changed. I'll breach the door first, draw their fire while your soldiers find cover. Unlike before, I'm not sure retreating or repositioning will be an option."

"Understood."

Revan reached out with the Force, feeling the minds of the Mandalorians they'd soon be facing on the roof, but the battle raging around and above Manaan was making focus difficult. They'd have to go in blind, as if they had any other choice.

_"Revan!"_ Malak's voice crackled through the comm. _"Revan, come in!"_

Revan's communicator flew into his hand. "What is it, Malak?"

_"Revan, are you there!"_

"Yes, I'm here." The interference was getting worse. He walked closer to one of the windows, trying in vain to get a better signal. "Malak, can you hear me?"

_"Revan, come in!"_ Blasterfire cut through the static. _"If you can hear me, Mandie reinforcements just dropped in west of Grid Five! They're right on top of Meetra! Her position's about to be overrun!"_

Revan tried to speak. His mouth went dry. "Can you spare anyone? Can you send _anyone_ her way?"

_"Revan, she needs your help! I can't make it! I can't—"_

The link went dead with a quiet click.

Revan stared at his communicator, absently toggled the transmit switch. "Malak?" Not even static returned.

"General Revan?" the CO asked. "Do your orders stand?"

He could see Meetra, fighting off an army of Mandalorian warriors only to be consumed, here, so far from the place they called home. The Force showed him his path and how completely it parted at his feet. One sent him through the window and into the open air, where he'd plummet to the ground only to be caught by the Force. From there, he'd run until his feet went raw, through shifting enemy lines, betting on the chance that Meetra would still be alive when he reached her.

The anti-orbital and -air cannons would be fought over for too long, leaving Republic ground forces without air support of any kind until it was too late. They would be forced to retreat, back and back and back, all the way to Yavin. Square one. Another year of fighting for a victory that would be harder to obtain.

Another year for the dark machinations of whatever force guided the Mandalorians to further embed themselves in Republic space. Too much would fall.

_All of it_, he corrected himself. _All of it will fall._

He could see it there: the capitol building where Meetra was likely fighting for her life, bright flashes of heavy weaponry detonating throughout. He stared into it, for one long, mournful moment, and turned away toward the path that would carry him upwards.

"My orders stand," he said to his CO, the Force around him alive with vengeful fury.

**[3,956 BBY – Present Day]**

Coruscant swallowed the _Ebon Hawk_ whole. Revan could hear Carth requesting docking permission and it would only be a few minutes before they landed. Still, Revan sat, distant, dwelling on new memories of his time on Manaan: one of the turning points of the Mandalorian Wars. It had been such a tremendous victory for the Republic, but it weighed on him like defeat.

"Sometimes I wonder if I ever cared," he said. "I went to war to protect everything that I loved, but all I ever succeeded in doing was putting those I loved in danger." He thought of Malak, Meetra, and all of the so-called _Revanchists_ who followed him to war and never came back. "Ever since the _Leviathan_, I've been trying to reconcile who I've been since Taris with this man I've been my whole life.

"I tried to convince myself that I've changed. That I am not Darth Revan, the Sith Lord who destroyed Malachor Five, butchered a Jedi compound on Felucia, killed..." He cradled his face in his hands. "Darth Revan is responsible for so much destruction, so much death, yet less than two years and a lapse in memory separates me from him.

"It's not much," Revan said. "It's not _anything_... I _am_ Darth Revan, and I feel like it's a title I'll carry with me until the day I follow Malak into the dark."

Jolee looked into Revan, through him. He was as stoic as Revan had ever seen. "You feel regret?"

Revan nodded. "Yes, absolutely."

"Truly?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." Jolee stroked his goatee. "I have a story for you."

"Look, Jolee, I'm not sure this is one of those times—"

"Hey!" the old man snapped. "You came to me. Many pardons if I just naturally assumed you'd want to hear what I have to say."

Revan grinned. "Sorry, Jolee," he said. "Please, continue."

"With what?"

"Are you kriffing serious—!"

"I'm only kidding with you, son. Lighten up!" Jolee cleared his throat. "Anyway, where was I? Well it was... no... Did I already tell you the snake story?"

"_Yes_."

"Right! Then you said... Right, okay. I've got it now." The old Jedi sat up straight. "Once there was a village. The only village on the planet, built among a grove of old trees that the villagers just absolutely _loved_. Well, one day, some of those trees just start going missing. Chopped down, dragged away and no one could figure out where or why. This continued on for some time until there was only one, _just_ one, tree left in the grove.

"So the villagers, needless to say, kept a close eye on the thing. Sure enough, a man with an ax comes running up to the tree in the middle of the night and chops the thing down with one quick _WHACK!_" Revan jumped. "Sorry, kid. Anyway, the villagers manage to track this man down, and they find a great big wall built just up the hill from their homes. The man seemed shocked that he'd been discovered, but made no move to fight back. His job was done, come what may.

"But while everyone was fighting over why this man had used their beautiful old trees to build this gaudy wall and how they were gonna punish him, an awful storm kicked up, and a flash flood poured down out of the hills. The flood would've made it all the way to the village, destroying everything, drowning everyone, but it was stopped—by that crazy man's wall.

"And do you know what the man said then?" Jolee asked.

Revan shook his head. "What?"

Jolee seemed confused. "Wait... no... And do you know what the _villagers_ said then?"

Revan could feel a headache coming on. "What, Jolee?"

"No, actually it was the man. He said, 'Sorry about the trees.'"

"Is this a real story, Jolee? Because it seems to edge pretty close to what we just talked about."

"Stories do that," Jolee said. "The point being, sometimes getting a look at the big picture is necessary." He gripped Revan by the shoulder. "Now, you may have done some terrible things during that war, of that I have no doubt. But you're right. You are not a different man; you're the same man with a couple more years on you. A good, honest man who went up against a kind of rabid darkness to protect everything that you hold dear. That much, Revan, has most certainly _not_ changed, and _cannot_ be changed.

"I don't worry about the man you were," Jolee said. "I worry about the evil you must have looked into to make a kind boy like you take up the mantle of the dark side so willingly." He leaned back just as the _Ebon Hawk_ shuddered from landing. "You must have found something terrible out there, kid."

Revan dug back into memory, but all he found was a wall. "I wish I could remember what it was."

"I would say, with all due respect, do not try to. And enjoy these days while they last." Jolee stood and offered his hand to Revan. "While the wall still yet holds."


	20. Voices in the Dark: Part I

_"Are you prepared to die with the values that have only served to lead you here: kneeling before my blade with nothing more than a hollow code of honor to justify your existence? Do you not cherish life any more than that? Do you truly see yourself as a sacrificial pawn, destined to be thrown into the fire when your so-called training fails you? Do you not see this fallacious act for what it is?_

_"The Order has failed you, so you must pay the price? How can you justify that? How can you sit here before me and believe such a thing?"_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Fourteen – Voices in the Dark: Part I

* * *

><p>Meetra walked with the rest of the <em>Tambourine<em>'s crew to meet with the Taris Relief Group, a battered and bruised bunch of Republic soldiers who looked like they hadn't had a moment's rest or a hot shower in days. Captain Malkem shook hands with the commanding officer, exchanged a few words in private, and then signaled for the crew to start unloading the supplies.

"All right, let's get 'er hollowed out!" he shouted. His voice echoed throughout the world for a distressingly long time. "Double time, double time!" He clapped his hands a few times to get a rise out of his crew and then patted Meetra on the shoulder. "You paid for passage, you didn't pay to work. Are you sure you want to help with this?"

Meetra took a quick look at the wrecked landscape and turned back to the captain. "If there's any way I can help, I'd like to."

"Good." Malkem smiled and tied his dreadlocks back. "All right then, Miss Koryan, if you could just help the crew get those supplies out of the hold, I'd be much obliged."

"Will do." Meetra jogged back up into the cargo hold, found the biggest crate she could handle without help, and carried it back down the ramp. The Relief Group pointed out a place near a crashed freighter to set the supplies, all the while emphatically expressing their gratitude. She sat the crate down next to the others and gave herself a moment to take in the world.

Taris had once been a dense ecumenopolis, miles-high towers of radiant blue glass and steel that covered nearly every inch of the planet's land mass, peopled by six billion. It hadn't been the most civilized part of the Rim—if the infamous negative review in Trampeta's Star Guide was to be believed—but its grandeur was a magnificent achievement for an independent world.

Presently, the entire planet-wide city sat crumbled and burning within its own footprint.

Meetra could see nothing but wreckage in all directions, crashed speeders and toppled skyscrapers and pillars of black smoke belching out from below. The place was still very much unstable, prone to more collapses; indeed, the Taris Relief Group had been marking out pathways through the debris with bright red paint that were deemed "safe." But the enduring mantra around here: "Safe doesn't mean much."

She went about unloading a few more crates when she heard the first explosion, deep and loud, and the wreckage they walked upon shook. Smoke began billowing out from under the spot where the _Tambourine_ was parked. On cue, Lefty emerged from the cargo hold and said something to Malkem over the noise.

"Everyone get on back here!" Malkem called out. "Let's go!"

Meetra and the rest of the crew joined up at the relief camp, where the Group was manning all sorts of communications devices, coordinating rescue efforts for miles around. Malkem spoke to the commanding officer in private once again and then addressed his crew.

"Bad news," he said. "Stability in this region is dropping like a stone—poor choice of words, my apologies—and the _Tambourine_'s only making things worse, so I'm gonna have Lefty relocate the ship and we'll finishing unloading afterwards." He motioned to the commanding officer. "Before that, Commander Pellar would like to say a few things."

Pellar took a step forward. "Thank you, Captain Malkem," he said graciously. "Thank you all. This is by far the most generous thing anyone in the galaxy has done for us so far. The food, water and medical supplies will be fully utilized in the days and weeks to come, and they will be very much appreciated by the survivors we currently have lodged in our makeshift hospital. A few things before your ship takes off..."

He placed a circular device the size of a dinner plate on the ground at the crew's feet. After a few seconds, it lit up and threw a hologram of the surrounding area into the air above its surface. Commander Pellar pointed at a red dot on the map. "This is us," he said. "Our main camp will be unaffected by any collapse in this area, but it will hinder our rescue efforts significantly. As such, we cannot currently spare anyone to help you look for another safe landing spot. I hope you'll accept my deepest apologies, especially after everything you've done, but it just can't be helped."

The map enlarged, and the subsurface of the wreckage came into view. "We've only been able to scan a few regions in this area with the time we've had, but the location with the highest structural integrity we were able to detect is a few klicks west of our position." Pellar picked up a few odd-looking gauntlets. "I'll make sure each of you gets one of these. They dispense tiny magnetized drones that'll roll around in the debris and help us map the area more effectively. We'll keep an eye on the readouts we get back, and contact you when you've found a place that'll support your freighter."

Malkem stepped in. "I'm gonna have you all fan out in a westerly direction, dropping a few of these drones every few minutes. Giving the relief effort better maps to work with will help them out in the long run and it'll help us land. Fairy tale ending for everyone."

The _Tambourine_'s engines ignited, and the freighter hovered off the ground for a minute before taking to the smoke-filled sky. Malkem pointed at the ship as it departed. "Lefty's gonna keep to low orbit until we find his landing spot. Time's a factor, so let's get to it!"

Pellar gathered up a bunch of the drone gauntlets and handed them out to the _Tambourine_'s crew. "Please be safe," he said. "Remember: much of the wreckage hasn't settled yet. You could walk right into a chasm that'll drop you for miles if you aren't careful. Keep your eyes on the ground and listen for any hints of collapse. And thank you all!"

Meetra stepped forward to take a gauntlet from Pellar. When the commander handed the device over, he grinned at her. "Thank you for doing this..." His words trailed off. He was suddenly placid, and then his brow furrowed, as if greatly confused. Concerned, even. He continued staring at Meetra, even as she wandered off to join up with the rest of the crew. She tried not to return his glances.

Captain Malkem took Meetra by the shoulder, breaking the spell between her and the commander. "You know what I'm gonna tell you," the captain said.

Meetra came back to herself and nodded. "That I already paid for passage, I didn't pay to work."

"Right," he said. "And then you were gonna reply with...?"

"I'm here to help."

"Right." He slapped Meetra on the back, possibly a little harder than he had intended. "I still think you're too good for Korriban."

_For the destroyer of Malachor?_ Meetra quietly added. _I deserve nothing less._

–

The crew stayed together for most of the walk, but a few hours after leaving the Relief Group camp, Meetra found herself alone with only a communicator and her drone gauntlet. Progress was never really steady; toppled buildings gave her relatively flat ground to walk, but most of the time, she was making her way through twisted and molten steel and piles of glass shards.

Every few minutes, she would press a button on her gauntlet, and a few tiny orbs would pop out, bounce around the steel before rolling into the debris. Someone back at camp would make an update to the crew through their communicators, letting them know if the area they were mapping was safe or if they should check out a point of interest. Overall, they had found nothing of significance.

Meetra adjusted her heading north when she spotted heat vapors pouring out of the wreckage. She toggled her communicator. "This is Valystra. Looks like there's a rather large fire burning just west of me."

It took a moment for the operator to come back. _"Acknowledged. We've marked your present coordinates on our maps. Thank you for the report."_

"Not a problem," she said and pocketed the comm.

After another kilometer, a city transport blocked her path, half-jutting out of the debris. The hatches were open and she could smell the stink of death when she got close. An arm dangled from the opening, decayed and limp. She changed her heading again and continued west.

An undamaged tower stood tall in defiance of the surrounding wreckage and, as Meetra walked, it moved to blot out the sun. One of the relief groups had already searched it, evidenced by the prominent graffiti painted near a broken window. It announced the date it was searched, the amount of survivors that were found and the number of the dead. One of the numbers was far too high, and she wagered a guess at what it represented.

When the sun began to fall behind the western horizon, Malkem's voice came over her communicator. _"All right, everyone, no one's spending the night out there on my watch. Start heading back to camp. If you need directions, the line's always open."_

Meetra sent a confirmation signal and started walking east, letting out another set of drones as she did. She was almost back at the dead transport, when she heard the most terrible grinding sound, louder and harsher than the one she'd heard at the camp. The ground started to tremble and it wasn't letting up.

Her comm lit up. _"Miss Koryan, the drones are showing structural instability in your area,"_ the operator said. _"I suggest you keep moving until we say otherwise."_

"Got it," she replied and doubled her pace.

The ground began to settle. Loud snaps and distant rumbles filled the air. The trembling got worse and worse. Everything seemed to be moving and complaining.

"This is Valystra!" she said over the noise. She was running now. "Things are getting really bad over here!"

Torturous static, and then: _"Miss Koryan, the lower levels are collapsing. You need to run, do you hear me? Run!"_

The dead transport slipped away beneath the debris, and the havoc it wreaked in the subsurface was complete. The wreckage of Taris opened up into a great maw of metal and fire and smoke, with a loud and thunderous roar, and moved to swallow up Meetra.

She ran for her life as the chasm opened wide, tons upon tons of debris sinking away and spilling into the subsurface. Already tired from walking all day, she clumsily scrambled over crashed ships and twisted metal fragments that threatened to impale her if she tripped. Massive balls of fire tore out of the maw as it expanded, born from ruptured gas mains and starship power cells. She could feel the heat at her back and across her neck, and she didn't dare look back again.

Meetra fumbled with her communicator. "I don't—" She jumped between a pair of aircabs. "—I don't think I can make it!"

Someone spoke, but she couldn't hear over the collapse. Then Malkem's baritone made it to her ears. _"Keep running, girl! Lefty's on his way down with the _Tambourine_. He'll get you out of there, just keep running!_" Static. _"—not leaving without—"_

The ground beneath Meetra's feet slanted away, and she tumbled helplessly into a dark chasm that parted the wreckage. She slid down the wall of a building, blindly scrabbling for purchase. Things in the darkness scratched at her, light and heat from distant fires appeared and disappeared. She noticed she was screaming—the entire way down.

This was it, she told herself. This is how it ends.

Something caught her boots and she tumbled flat onto something hard. She could taste blood and her limbs were wracked with pain. She could hear the ground was still settling _somewhere_ but it seemed much more distant now. Nothing was collapsing in on her, the noise wasn't getting louder. She was safe.

_But safe doesn't mean much on Taris_, she reminded herself.

Remembering that the _Tambourine_ was coming for her, Meetra knew she had to get back to the surface as quickly as possible. She tried to push herself up, but there came a cracking sound beneath her. Something was moving beneath her hands. Carefully, she toggled a small light on her drone gauntlet... and froze.

She was prone on a window pane, a tangle of cracks slowly webbing out around her.


	21. Voices in the Dark: Part II

_"So what will it be? Die a martyr to a cause that was never truly yours, or live your life free of restrictions? This is your choice, and I assure you, it's the first thing that's ever really belonged to you in your entire life."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Fifteen – Voices in the Dark: Part II

* * *

><p>The light showed a drop from which Meetra would probably not recover. She moved with as much restraint as she could afford, inch by inch, trying to get herself off of the window pane. The cracks spread with every movement, connecting and branching, seeking a shatterpoint. In the weak light of her gauntlet, she was able to spot the edge of the glass. It was too far, she could already tell, but she kept moving regardless.<p>

She distributed her weight across the window, spreading her arms and legs as far as they could go without sacrificing balance. It didn't seem to help. She moved her right arm and her light shone inside the building again. Furniture was scattered across the walls and a thick layer of dust covered everything. The wide door into the room was open, revealing a hallway that the toppled skyscraper had turned into one big vertical drop into nothing, and it was that particular part of the room she was crawling over.

If she could just get a bit further, she'd be fine; she'd miss the open door and hit the wall instead. That was to say nothing about all of the beds and chairs onto which she'd fall very ungracefully. She was going to break something either way.

Left hand now. Shifting her weight around caused more cracks on her right side. They weren't stopping. She could feel herself sinking. In a panic, she crawled quickly, trying to make it to the edge of the window in time. Her knee broke through and she felt the sting of broken glass chewing into her skin. The fabric of her pants shredded and were pulled taut. She tried to pull herself free, but it was too late.

The window shattered around her and she struck the doorjamb evenly across her hips, throwing her leg out of its socket with a loud pop. The pain that cut through her body prompted a terrible scream out of her, and it almost made her unaware that she was slipping into the doorway. Ignoring the pain, she grabbed at anything to keep her from falling. Her fingers found the door's control panel, and it was enough to keep her from slipping over. Just barely.

Adrenaline surging, Meetra used her good leg to pull herself all the way into the room. Shattered glass had mixed with the dust and she didn't even bother trying to avoid it. She could already feel fresh cuts across her hands and wrists.

When she was out of danger—for that moment, anyway—she gave herself a moment to catch her breath. Pieces of the window continued raining down at irregular intervals, and the light from her gauntlet did nothing but scatter throughout the dust she had kicked up with her fall. She pulled her shirt over her mouth to avoid breathing it all in.

"This is..." Her voice was gone. "..._not_ my best day ever."

Since the lower half of her right pant leg was already torn through, she finished the job and used the fabric to make a poor field dressing for her bloodied knee. Then she felt around for her communicator, which had taken a nasty hit during the fall and wasn't even attempting to transmit. Disheartened, she pressed the button on her drone gauntlet. Three orbs tumbled out, rolled along the floor and down into the doorway. It was her hope that the Relief Group would see the drones mapping in an area they typically wouldn't be. Maybe that would make her easier to find.

Meetra started to pull herself along the wall of the upended room. Cheap mattresses and chairs blocked her way, but they were easily pushed aside. There were a few built-in shelves along the wall in front of her that would possibly allow her to climb her way out. It wouldn't be the easiest thing she'd ever done, but her options were very much limited. She had no food and only a single canteen of water, which she'd probably use in its entirety during the climb. She just couldn't wait around.

The _Tambourine_ would be looking for her. And she had to get to Korriban; she just had to.

There was still that chance she could be the woman she had been during the Mandalorian Wars. Powerful, agile, dangerous and alive with the Force. She couldn't stand being this helpless anymore. She couldn't stand being _human_.

A rather large workbench lay between Meetra and the wall of shelves, and she wagered it wouldn't be easily moved. There was a narrow opening between the thing of solid steel and the floor and, as carefully as she could, she tried to squeeze between. She grabbed at one of the handles on the bench to use as leverage, but a drawer popped open immediately. A bundle of tools spilled out, nearly on top of Meetra's head, and filled in the gap between the bench and the floor.

Anger spilled over. Meetra roared into the dark of the room, striking the side of the bench with her hands, cut in a hundred places from the broken glass. With her heart beating out of her chest, and sweat and tears cutting lines through the dust that coated her face, she had to force herself to calm down.

Taking in deep breaths through the shirt covering her mouth, she turned back around and started pushing the tools out of her way. She vengefully tossed the remaining tool across the room and just as her hand relaxed, something else came toppling out of the open drawer and struck the floor with a crystal chime.

Meetra picked it up, turning it over in her hand and feeling the weight of it, and wondered just what kind of tool it could be; it felt like polished rock. She brought it to her chest and shone her gauntlet's light upon its surface. The sight of the object frightened her, and it tumbled out of her grasp and onto the wall beside her.

Working up the courage, she turned her light on it again. The light seemed to ignore it, this pyramid-shaped object of perfect darkness.

It was a Sith holocron.

–

Memories regressed lightyears at a time. Sweeping back over the green surface of Dantooine on a flawless day, three dark figures standing in an empty field. Then forward, a million stars passing by, to the jungles of Dxun and the ivory towers of Onderon. Another series of flashes: familiar places, all of them. An entire life to be lived once again. A life that drew a path between the stars. A beacon of hope, a harbinger of death.

Malachor V breathed of life once more and then disappeared into shadow a thousand times over. Friends walked terrestrial grounds, the places where they'd be buried, oblivious. Blaster bolts returned to their weapons. Fires burned up ashes and birthed forests. Images without time until something brought them all under control—

And there, deep within the ruins of Taris, an image of Darth Revan emerged from a scattering of light the Sith holocron provided. Not the Revan whom Meetra had known. This was the man she had left at Malachor V, at a time when too many things were lost to her. Lying among dust and glass, the image of Revan addressed her as though he was right there in front of her. His face and body were hidden behind the ancient Mandalorian armor and robes he'd discovered at the place he called _Trayus_.

Still, across time and space, she could still feel his glare upon her.

The image of Darth Revan crossed his arms. _"I leave this message at a moment when so much is uncertain, even to one with the clairvoyance to see over the edge of time."_ He looked around the room. _"I have not come to Taris of my own volition. Necessity has brought me here. A trade agreement that will need to be in place once my plans have become reality. If the path is minded, Coruscant, as it is known, will no longer exist by this time next year. The galaxy will be in need of a new 'Galactic Hub,' one that will not be so comfortably tucked away and sheltered in the Core._

_ "The leadership of this new Sith Empire will not grow as complacent as these politicians in the Senate. They will have a seat at the edge of chaos, and they will fight to protect what we have created. But that is none of your concern, Meetra. Not now."_

Meetra's eyes widened at the mention of her name. It had been nearly three years since the Jedi Civil Wars began. How could Revan have possibly known she'd be here—and in this state?

_"This place has granted me a brand of unexpected clarity,"_ Darth Revan explained, as if to answer her directly. _"I see now that my plans will be... amended, in some way. This place will not become the Galactic Hub that I wish it to be. From this room, I see death and destruction, and I hear everything I'm working towards collapsing, distantly, across the galaxy. And in your eyes, Meetra, I see that you have given up."_

He bowed his head. _"I'm going to tell you a lie, Meetra: this is what I wanted for the three of us. This fate that I've manufactured for the dearest friends I could ever have in this life—or any life, for that matter—is not one that I would have otherwise chosen willingly. It is a curse, this path we walk. One that I wouldn't wish upon Mandalore himself."_

His hands fell to his side, gripped into fists. _"But it is a path that we must continue walking, ever downward, if necessary. Because there is no one else who can. No one else but us."_

Darth Revan stepped forward and removed his mask. The face of the man Meetra used to know was still there, but the dark side of the Force had taken its toll. He was pale, very pale, and his skin seemed almost desiccated. His eyes were feral and looked unnatural, but they still managed to communicate the sorrow he seemed to be feeling. _"I'm sorry, Meetra. It's likely a hollow apology, after all that must have happened to you in recent days. But it's all I have to give you from this place in time. You deserved better—but the Republic deserved to have you on its side._

_ "Do not give up, my friend. Do not allow yourself to fall any further. The light of the Jedi way was always our guide—and in those days when it failed, you, Malak and I, we found the light in each other. But since that might no longer be possible, you must find it within yourself._

Revan kneeled before her, their eyes making contact across the years. _"If the Force has failed you—if _we_ have failed you—you can light your own path: one that will not end, but will burn eternally bright._

_ "You've always found strength in the most unlikely of places, and it drove us forward across the stars together."_ He smiled. _"If echoes are all you hear, you can find strength in those, too."_ He replaced the mask upon his face and bowed low in her direction. _"Goodbye, Meetra..."_

The holocron dimmed, and the image of Darth Revan faded out of existence. Stunned to silence, it was only then that she noticed something in her hand. She couldn't remember when she had found it, but she knew exactly what it was. It was an armband that she had made back at the Jedi Academy on Dantooine. She couldn't have been more than eight years old when she started weaving it, and it was only after she had constructed her first lightsaber that she finished.

Meetra knew this because of the three beads she had sewn into place across it. Green, blue and yellow. Tears welled in her eyes and images of Revan and Malak came to her mind; the beads were the colors of their lightsabers.

When had she lost this armband? She couldn't even remember the last time she'd worn it, but Revan had apparently thought enough of it to make sure she found it again.

_Green, blue and yellow_.

Such simpler times. She thought of Malak's smile and Revan's shy expression whenever Bastila Shan passed him by. Where did those days go? Where could she find them?

Meetra tied the armband around her wrist and hid the holocron back inside the workbench. An image of Zand flashed through her mind, and the forests of Ruusan that he always managed to conjure up in her mind with his enthusiastic speeches seemed to appear in front of her.

Where did those days go? she wondered. Ruusan seemed a good a place as any to start looking.

Strength renewed, she pushed herself onto her good leg, set her eyes upward, and started climbing.

–

"You know, I've been telling Lefty for three days what kind of climb you had to deal with, and he _still_ doesn't believe it," Malkem said, taking a seat at the foot of the bunk. "Commander Pellar showed me the maps. Really, I don't know how you made it out of there."

Beneath the layer of fog that occupied her mind while the medicine did its job, she could only smile and say, "A place like that, you find a reason."

Malkem grinned. "Now, ain't that the only kind of truth?" He stood, looked around the _Tambourine_'s infirmary. "Word has it that you've settled on a different destination. We're about to get underway, so I figured I'd nab some confirmation out of you."

Meetra nodded and pulled her blankets tighter around herself. "I'd like to go to Ruusan, if that's all right with you."

"Hell, it's more than all right!" the captain said with a laugh. "First real piece of good news I've heard in a long damn time." He touched her on the arm. "You get better, okay? This bed's yours for as long as you need it."

"Roger that."

Malkem snorted. "You're all right, Koryan."

The captain left the room, giving Meetra some quiet. But just before she drifted off, she heard footsteps in the room. When she was finally able to force her eyes open, Commander Pellar was standing at her side.

"Commander," she said.

Pellar grinned, though he seemed to be fighting back tears. "Yes, ma'am."

Meetra tilted her head up off her pillow. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing like that," he was quick to say. "I just wanted to say goodbye before you left."

"Thank you, Commander."

"Thank _you_," he insisted. "Your maps will do us a lot of good."

Meetra snickered. "Hate to say it, but those good ones weren't very intentional."

"Oh, I know. Yeah." Pellar stared blankly for a moment, then set his jaw. "I don't know how else to say it, so I'll just say it. You may have noticed my reaction when we first met."

"I did."

"Well, you might not remember me, but I was part of the 223rd during the war. You were my CO when we took Manaan."

Her memory retraced its steps, and in that quagmire that unfolded at the Manaan capitol building, she could see Pellar's face in the commotion. "You were with me at the capitol."

Pellar smiled. "That's right."

She didn't quite know what to say. "I'm sorry..."

"For some reason, I thought that would be the first thing you'd say." He waved her away. "You saved my life in that building so many times over and I never got to thank you properly before you shipped out with General Revan again."

Meetra shrugged. "Well, it was a long day."

"The longest," he agreed. "I know you must feel some guilt over what happened at Malachor and after. I'm guessing that's why everyone's calling you by a different name around here. But know that there were a whole lot of us who made it off Manaan who would like to shake your hand." He shrugged. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here leading the Relief Group. Darth Malak did some terrible things, but we've done a whole lot of good here to counter it."

Pellar stood straight and saluted Meetra. "Thank you, General Surik."

Meetra was at a loss. "You're... You're welcome."

"If you don't mind me asking: where are you heading next?"

"Ah..." She blinked tears out of her eyes. "Ruusan."

"Why's that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

Pellar seemed to understand. "I know how that goes. First day after the war ended, I wasn't sure what to do with myself," he said. "Do you remember what you said to us when we were pinned down in that office?"

Meetra shook her head.

"If you want a path to walk, you gotta find it first."


	22. Knights, Now and Forever

_"But it is not the leaf that guides the wind. The leaf is only an object that makes one take notice of an event you cannot see or touch. It is but a messenger at the mercy of all that must come naturally. Far too many resist this, even though it is something that cannot and will not change by mere show of force or touting of conviction."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Sixteen – Knights, Now and Forever

* * *

><p>The sun was setting on Coruscant when the crew of the <em>Ebon Hawk<em> debarked. Conversations died mid-sentence and any sense of levity was drawn away from the landing platform. Mission's smile faded, and she looked between Zalbaar and the rest of her friends with concern; Carth was grinning, but his eyes were locked on the floor; Jolee and Juhani stood contentedly with their arms behind their backs, knowing something that the rest did not; HK-47 and T3 patrolled the perimeter, restless as always; Canderous scratched his chin, his expression distant.

And Revan took up Bastila's hand into his, playing his part in the silence that held the platform. There was nothing that could be said without acknowledging the fact that this moment, as they all knew, would be the last time they'd be together as a crew—as a family.

"Well," Canderous said, cutting through the quiet. "It's been some kind of a ride, hasn't it?" Everyone nodded. "Maybe we didn't accomplish what we set out to do, but we got to travel together one last time."

"Without the Sith trying to shoot us out of the sky," Mission added. "Felt like a vacation."

"There'll be other adventures for us, child," Jolee said. "Even for this old coot! Did I ever tell you the story of—?"

"_Yes!_" Mission shrieked. "Yes, please don't!"

"Wasn't gonna actually tell it." Jolee's frown deepened. "Not now, anyway."

"Where will everyone be going now?" Revan asked, genuinely curious. "I know Carth's heading back to the base, but what about the rest of you?"

Juhani said, "Master Bindo and I will make our way to the Jedi Temple, where I will resume my training. Hopefully."

"No need to be hopeful," Jolee said. "They're gonna continue training you even if it hurts 'em—and if _I_ have to hurt 'em, I will."

The Cathar smiled. "Of that, I have no doubt."

"He'll probably just talk 'em to death," Mission added.

Jolee furiously wagged his finger at the Twi'lek. "Girl, didn't anybody ever teach you to respect your elders!"

"You're not an elder, you're just old!"

"What—"

"Okay, we got it," Revan said, trying to change the subject. "Canderous?"

"I got a safehouse a few levels down, and a few jobs lined up in need of a Mandalorian who can shoot worth a damn." Canderous spread out his arms. "Biding my time until my friend Revan decides to take another trip across the galaxy."

"And I'll be taking these two back to the base with me," Carth said, gesturing to Mission and Zalbaar. "The Republic's setting them up with Dustil and I. Someplace where I can keep an eye on them, and at least attempt to keep them out of trouble."

"Attempt," Mission echoed. Zalbaar grunted a laugh.

The quiet returned in full force, but before it settled completely, Revan spoke up. "So I guess this is it."

"Nothing ever ends, son," Jolee said evenly. "If something is important, it endures, irrelevant of time." He regarded the rest of the group. "Our friendship... well, I can't think of anything else more important off the top of my head."

"Neither can I," Revan said.

The goodbyes came all at once and were over far too soon. Carth returned to the _Ebon Hawk_ with Mission and Zalbaar. The old freighter that had been their home made a dramatic pass over the landing pad and took to the sky, merging with the glittering skylanes overhead. Canderous hailed an aircab and boarded with Jolee and Juhani. A Republic transport, contacted by Carth just before they landed, arrived just then to carry Revan and Bastila—with HK-47 and T3-M4 in tow—to the apartment they'd be sharing on Coruscant.

The start of a new life. For however long the Force allowed it to last. And Revan knew, as he lovingly held Bastila in his arms, that it wouldn't be long.

He could see the strands of time through the Force: the past and future drawing so violently together. The galaxy was, for the moment, at peace. It had no need for the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ any longer. Neither did it need a redeemed Jedi Knight or a Sith Lord reborn. For this moment, however brief, Revan and his ambitions sat in the eye of a great storm: a time of peace brought to him by immense peril, looming somewhere out there beyond the Rim.

Revan kissed Bastila and held her close. The galaxy, the Force and his memories were at rest, so he, too, would rest and breathe of life while he could. Because one day, and right soon at that, he would be carried away again.

To a place, as he saw with horrific clarity, with no road back home.


	23. Ignite the Stars

_"There's an old saying that states that nothing lasts forever—even the stars burn out. Life is but a series of moments, ending one after another. But I'd like to think that somewhere, down the line in the centuries that are sure to come, those moments will be brighter and more vivid than they ever would have been otherwise._

_"This will be my legacy. This is the future that I'd give my life and many others to attain—and I'd do this gladly."_

* * *

><p>Star Wars: Trail of Echoes<p>

Chapter Seventeen – Ignite the Stars

* * *

><p>Time passes, if there is but one certainty, and delivers the choices of the past onto the present like waves upon a shore. Five years after the destruction of the Star Forge, the choices of Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith, resounded across the galaxy without prejudice.<p>

In the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, before a quiet gathering of Knights and Masters, Jolee Bindo bows low and presents his apprentice, Juhani, with the lightsaber he carried in his youth, confident that she has learned all that he has to teach. On the jungle moon of Duxn, the Mandalorian Clans once more swear fealty to Canderous Ordo: _Te Taylir Mand'alor_, Mandalore the Preserver. Over a secure channel, Mission Vao tells Admiral Carth Onasi about a member of the Taris Relief Group she's had dealings with through her import/export service, one Commander Pellar, who has it on good authority that Meetra Surik is currently working caravan security on Ruusan.

Admiral Onasi then contacts the nearest Republic vessel to Ruusan, the _Harbinger_, and orders her captain to make all haste to the planet and bring the Exile in for questioning.

Vaner Shan says his first words while his mother, Bastila, looks on, overcome with joy. She laughs and holds her baby boy in her arms and quietly wishes, once more, that Revan was here with them. By now, on the other side of the galaxy, Revan has been imprisoned on the True Sith homeworld of Dromund Kaas for three years. He whittles away each long second of his solitary confinement and infrequent torture sessions by thinking of Bastila, and silently plotting out through the multitudes of pathways the galaxy offers, trying to find the way back home.

The storm that Revan could only faintly perceive in his mind's eye all those years ago has begun to blot out the stars. Meetra Surik floats in a kolto tank in the Peragus II Mining Facility, rendered unconscious by her encounter with the Sith Lord, Darth Sion, aboard the _Harbinger_. She doesn't dream, but a voice comes to her through the ether in the form of echoes.

_"Awaken,"_ a woman's voice demands. _"You are much like him, more than you know. Though where I could sense much ambition in my young Padawan, in you I sense only lack. Such hollowness that it could swallow up the Maw. How you could have so much taken away from you and still find the strength within yourself to forge ahead is endlessly remarkable. I hope you've not grown attached to that hollowness, because your time has come again."_

Meetra begins to regain consciousness, and the kolto tank responds by releasing her onto the floor. Sensing motion, the axillary systems in the infirmary are reactivated one at a time.

_"I see your destiny, child—the brightness that shines forth from the end—and I know all that lies before you is preluded by one simple act..._

_ "Awaken."_

Meetra's eyes snap open. The path she's been searching for her entire life unfolds: drawing lines of light between the worlds she's soon to walk, sending the storm that has descended upon the galaxy trembling back into the dark.


	24. Closing Notes

**Closing Notes (12-3-12):**

Another story that took _way_ longer to finish than I'd intended! Thank you to those of you who've been patiently sticking around.

I'm sorry to say that this story started out of spite. After I had finished reading the profoundly disappointing novel _Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan_, I just wanted to prove that it was totally possible to bring the gang back for one last hurrah instead of ignoring them all outright. Hopefully, this is the first and last time my motivations for writing are tangled up in emotions like that!

I hope that you enjoyed the story. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to do _everything_ that I wanted to do without tacking another year onto the writing schedule with everything that's been happening in my life-college being a big factor there-but I think it does enough in that brief gap in canon between the end of _KotOR I_ and _The Old Republic: Revan_ without pushing things too far out of whack. I really do try to stay true to canon, even when SW stories I don't like fall under that particular umbrella!

So, thanks again. As always, if you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving a review because they really do help me out. Sharing the story around is also a big plus. If you didn't like the story, well, consider leaving a review anyway! Constructive criticism, even the negative kind, is invaluable to me.

And thanks to _Mister Buch_ for listening to me rant on about the _Revan_ novel, even _long_ after it stopped being funny. xD

May the Force be with you!

-knight


End file.
